


Crusades

by GrumpyGhostOwl



Series: Battle of the Planets: 2163 [12]
Category: Battle of the Planets
Genre: Drama, Footnotes, Other, Things-fall-down-go-"Boom!", Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 64,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9817892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyGhostOwl/pseuds/GrumpyGhostOwl
Summary: The insular and reclusive Gaian Commonwealth of Worlds has been perfectly happy keeping both the Intergalactic Federation of Peaceful Planets and the Spectran Empire at arm’s length for centuries. Now interstellar war is on the doorstep and the Gaians may be forced to take sides. G-Force find themselves in the middle of a diplomatic mission that could turn into an invasion if they can't stop Zoltar in time.





	1. Prologue: The Jaws that Bite, the Claws that Catch

**Author's Note:**

> ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS  
> Thanks to Katblu42 for beta-reading. Thanks to WyldKat and Shayron for beta-reading as well as for technical advice on topics relating to weaponry and engineering. I didn’t know there were that many YouTube videos dedicated to footage of people firing big scary guns that really do sound like Velcro with serious anger management issues. Thank you to Daniella for proof-reading and catching the typos and other errors which slipped past my personal radar. Any errors are mine alone. 
> 
> Chapter titles are from Jabberwocky, by Lewis Carroll – the poem, not the movie. Some of the footnotes – particularly the footnotes to the footnotes – were inspired by Sir Terry Pratchett.
> 
> NOTES  
> I hesitate to call this story a political thriller – I’m no Tom Clancy by any stretch of the imagination – but if you find it vaguely interesting, I can live with that. 'Crusades' takes place after 'Loose Ends' and makes references back to previous instalments including 'The Ides of January'. You don't have to read the preceding stories in this series for this one to make sense but doing so might add a layer of nuance.

Elaine Anderson leaned forward and checked that none of her lipstick had transferred itself to her teeth. There was that little rough spot on the incisor from a car accident during that last mission to Riga, sustained on a tour of one of the planet’s remote provinces whose indigenes had so many nouns for rocks that it was theoretically possible to fill an entire Scrabble board with them and leave out everything else.  
  
The rough spot on the offending tooth had, as usual, collected a smear of crimson. Elaine rubbed it off with the tip of one finger. She would have to get it seen to during this brief sojourn on Earth. A minute sound, the softest scrape of a sneaker-sole on the carpet, had her turning and ready to deal with her visitor. Fortunately for the would-be intruder, Elaine recognised his tread. Eight-year-old David stood in the doorway, gazing at her with solemn brown eyes out from under a mop of dark auburn hair. Elaine smiled, her eyes sparkling with affection.  
  
"Hi, sweetie," she greeted him.  
  
"Mom, if Gran says it's okay, can Jay and I stay up and watch TV past eight o'clock?"  
  
"What makes you think Gran's going to say it's okay?" Elaine asked, arching an eyebrow as she turned back to the mirror to check her dark blonde hair. She rearranged a few stray tendrils and patted the roll at the back to ensure it wasn't going to come adrift. She considered briefly, then applied a touch more hairspray.  
  
"We-e-elll..." David drew invisible circles in the carpet pile with the toe of one shoe. "She might."  
  
"I don't think so," Robert Anderson opined, emerging from the _en-suite_. "Lainie, can you help me out with this?" he requested, indicating the bow tie that hung loose about his neck. "For some reason, I only seem to be able to tie my fingers in knots, tonight."  
  
"Are you going to be back late, Dad?" David ventured.  
  
"Probably, son," Robert predicted with a wry smile, "but don't worry, we'll be back when you wake up, and I'll keep my promise: pancakes for breakfast, then down to the park to run Chester and play some ball."  
  
"I wish we could go to the park _now_ ," David said wistfully.  
  
"Nice try," Elaine said, completing the knotting of her husband's tie, "but no cigar. You be good for Grandma Sorcha tonight, then tomorrow we'll have a family day in the park. Deal?"  
  
"Deal, Mom," the boy agreed. "I just wish you didn't have to go out so soon after you got back. It's like I hardly ever get to see you."  
  
"I know, hon'." Elaine bent to give her younger child a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. "We miss you and Jay when we're away, but don't worry. We've got two months before we have to go back to work, and then we're all going to Planet Gaia to live at the Embassy. Won't that be an adventure?"  
  
"I guess so," David said hesitantly. "Will we all be together all the time?"  
  
"I'll still have to travel a lot," Elaine predicted, "but not nearly as much as before."  
  
"You should be proud of your mother, David," Robert said gently. "Being appointed Federation Ambassador to the Gaian Commonwealth is a big achievement!"  
  
"I know," David said, smiling as he perched on the edge of his parents' bed, swinging his small feet above the floor. "Mom's real smart."  
  
"Real _ly_ smart," Robert corrected. "Now come on, let's go downstairs and get this show on the road. After you, Madame Ambassador."  
  
Sorcha Anderson looked up from her cup of tea as her son and daughter-in-law descended the stairs, young David trailing behind. She rose to her feet and ten-year-old James, the image of his father with his red hair and violet eyes, followed. James grabbed his younger brother's arm and drew him aside while the adults converged in the hall.  
  
"Well?" he demanded.  
  
"Sorry, Jay. Mom said no," David recounted.  
  
"You can't do anything right, squirt," James grumbled.  
  
"Boys!" Sorcha called imperiously, her Scots brogue colouring the word. "I don't know what you're plotting over there, but I know the sound of mischief brewing when I hear it!"  
  
"No TV after eight," Elaine said, with a pointed look in the boys' direction.  
  
"Don't worry, Elaine," Sorcha said amicably, "bedtime will be strictly observed."  
  
David sighed.  
  
"We should be back by about two AM, Mum," Robert said. "We've both got our comms if you need us. Jay, David, you be good and do as Gran tells you. We'll be back by the time you wake up tomorrow morning."  
  
"Promise?" David asked, eyes wide.  
  
Robert Anderson chuckled. "Promise," he said, dropping an affectionate kiss on the boy's forehead. He mussed Jay's hair and winked at his sons as he stood and finished putting on his coat. "Coming outside to see us off?" he asked.  
  
"Of course," Sorcha said.  
  
David held his grandmother's hand and tried to ignore the face Jay made at him. Gran's skin felt cool and soft, and he could smell her perfume, a sweet, spicy smell he always associated with her. The house cast a shadow that covered all the front lawn, and the sky was darkening to dusk, still vivid blue at the zenith and only just beginning to darken to indigo closer to the horizon, the faintest tinge of magenta beginning to edge the clouds.  
  
He watched as Mom and Dad climbed into the Range Rover and settled themselves.  
  
"Wave goodbye to Mum and Dad, boys!" Gran said, raising a hand in farewell.  
  
"Goodbye!" Mom called out, and he could see the movement of Dad's arm as he turned the ignition key.  
  
David was flung backward into the shrubbery by the shockwave, instinctively throwing up his arms to shield his face from the fireball that blossomed where the Range Rover should have been with a great roar of fire and fury and death...  
  
He heard his grandmother shriek -- a shrill, horrible sound -- heard Jay scream.  
  
The heat rolled over him, singeing his hair and knocking whatever breath was left out of him. Something large whizzed over his head and tiny hot impacts stung his upflung arms and scalp. There was a roaring, crackling noise, and thumps and thuds as debris landed on the lawn.  
  
He screamed for it to stop, for his mother, for his father to make it stop.  
  
  
  
  
He awoke, disoriented and uncomfortable, then realised he'd fallen asleep at his desk again.  
  
Security Chief Anderson pushed himself up slightly, elbows on the polished oak, forehead cradled in his hands. He took a few deep breaths to calm and centre himself.  
  
When the trembling stopped, he removed his spectacles, which had come adrift, straightened himself out and stretched in the chair, arching his back and flinging his arms wide. Before him, the computer monitor displayed a screen full of the letter "z" where one hand had rested on the keyboard. Absently, he pushed his hair back from his face and set about deleting the superfluous characters from his screen, then checked the document he had been working on and saved his work. Only when he was satisfied that everything was more or less in order did he consult his watch to see that it was after two in the morning.  
  
Planet Gaia. The name seemed burned into the computer screen even as it was burned into David Anderson's memory.  
  
Anderson opened a desk drawer and took out a worn envelope. Inside were printed photographs, well-thumbed and starting to fade. The first showed a happy family: Robert and Elaine with James, David and the gangly Weimerarner puppy Chester. Another showed the Anderson brothers standing proudly in Galaxy Security blues at the ISO Training Academy at West Point. Yet another showed an older James Anderson in the grounds of the Federation Embassy on Planet Gaia. He was seated on a low stone wall, waving at the camera, his left hand leaning on a slab of granite. He had scrawled on the photo, ‘ _Jay’s thoughtful spot_.’  
  
Elaine Anderson's mission had been to convince the politically reticent but technologically advanced Gaian Commonwealth to enter into a treaty with the InterGalactic Federation of Peaceful Planets, or failing that, to at least try to talk them into sharing some of their technology and negotiating a trade agreement. Spectran interests had apparently found the idea of the Federation accessing Gaian technology so alarming they had arranged for the new Ambassador's assassination before she could take up her appointment.  
  
The pacifist Gaians had been horrified at what they saw as a threat to their security and advised the Federation point blank that they would not only decline any treaties or sharing of technology, but that they would wind down diplomatic relations with the Federation and restrict trade.  
  
Spectra's victory was incomplete, however. The Gaians also advised the Spectrans, in the most civil and diplomatic of terms, not to pass 'Go' and to refrain from collecting $200.  
  
Gaia could afford the luxury of inviting both Spectra and the Federation to go forth, be fruitful and multiply due to the fact that the Gaians backed up their political neutrality with multi-planetary defensive shield technology which had proven impenetrable to anything ever thrown at it.  
  
Spectra had managed to keep the playing field more or less level.  
  
Soon, Elaine Anderson's younger son would have the opportunity to finish what his mother never had the chance to start.  
  
For now though, Elaine Anderson's younger son was extremely tired and needed to get some sleep.  



	2. Beware the Jub-Jub Bird, and Shun the Frumious Bandersnatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A weekend at Camp Parker draws to a close and it looks like the team's next mission is going to have more to do with politics and diplomacy than Jason would like. In the meantime, Princess has been playing matchmaker.

"Sure, why not?" Jason said, his knife poised over the butter dish. "I didn't have anything better to do." A breeze stirred the kitchen curtains and carried the sound of marching feet into Chief Anderson's Camp Parker living quarters, where G-Force was sitting down to an informal breakfast briefing.  
  
"I'm aware that you want to qualify for next year’s Africa Nine Thousand, Jason," Anderson said, "but this isn't a frivolous exercise."  
  
"I guess not," Jason buttered his toast with a light scraping action, scattering crumbs, "but if Spectra's making inroads against the Gaian shield systems, do we really want to invest in technology that’s already showing signs of failing?"  
  
"That's a very good point," Anderson agreed, "and it's an issue we'll be examining carefully, but the planetary shields aren't the only technology the Gaians have that we might be interested in. If the Commonwealth can be persuaded to ally themselves with us, it could swing the balance of power in our favour. Once we win the war, you can race all you want."  
  
"If you say so." Jason bit into his breakfast. Anderson attempted to make eye contact and engage Jason's attention but the younger man looked away, refusing to be drawn.  
  
"All the same," Mark said, "having us go all the way to Gaia on a goodwill visit is going to leave Earth vulnerable."  
  
"President Kane and Secretary Claybourne both consider the risk worthwhile," Anderson said, "as do I."  
  
"What if Zoltar attacks while we're gone?" Princess asked.  
  
"Zoltar’s always a sneak!" Keyop added around a mouthful of sugar and food colouring disguised as breakfast cereal.  
  
"You'll be on standby alert for the entire visit," Anderson told them. "If need be, you'll be recalled to Earth. It’s more likely that Spectra will be focussed on our presence on Gaia."  
  
"I suppose this means I get to stay with the _Phoenix_ the entire time," Tiny sighed.  
  
"Count your blessings," Jason suggested. "The alternative is being paraded around like a prize poodle." Jason put his second slice of toast between his teeth, stood and took his dishes to the sink. He rinsed his plate and retreated out the door, munching on his breakfast.  
  
Anderson got up from the table, picked up his cup and plate and headed for the sink. "The transport should be here soon," he remarked, and rinsed his dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. As the remainder of the Federation's elite fighting squad scrambled to tidy up after themselves, Anderson looked worriedly in the direction of the porch, aware of the invisible wall of resentment separating him from the young man he had struggled to relate to for so long. He knew he should say something, that he should reach out and try to find some common ground, but Jason wasn’t terribly welcoming of anything that looked like it might be approaching a parental overture. At least Jason’s relationship with Mark remained as solid as ever.   
  
It was almost a year to the day since the death of Mark’s father at the hands of a Spectran assassin. Since Anderson’s toxin-induced heart attack at the end of the previous year, both he and Mark had been opening up more and the two of them had worked on re-establishing the closeness of their relationship. They’d had a long talk about the man who had become Colonel Cronus. With Jason, though, Mark didn’t need to talk. Anderson often observed the two young men simply sitting quietly or playing ball games with a kind of unspoken understanding that they’d always be there for each other.  
  
There were times when Anderson envied them. His relationship with his own brother had never been as close as the friendship Mark and Jason shared. Anderson shook himself out of his reverie. It was almost time to leave for the city and his merciless schedule today didn't allow for personal diversions. He turned away and walked to the study to fetch his briefcase.  
  
Princess made good her escape, leaving Mark, Tiny and Keyop to negotiate the economy cycle on the dishwasher. She stepped out the door and made her way to the lawn where Jason was standing. She hardly noticed the uniformed guard on duty until he smiled and nodded to her.  
  
"Morning, Miss Anderson," the Lieutenant said.  
  
Princess returned his smile. "Hi, Josh," she said. "Watch almost done?"  
  
"Almost," Lieutenant Maxwell said. "Shift change in about twenty. If you’re looking for Lieutenant Patrick, she’s most likely over at the security office."  
  
"Thanks, Josh. See you later," Princess said, and continued on to the terraced lawn, where Jason was looking out over Lake Conway. "You okay, Jase?" she asked.  
  
"Sure," he said. "I guess I should be grateful for an easy mission assignment."  
  
"It's not so bad," Princess soothed. "Hardly anyone from the Federation's ever been to the Gaian mother world. It'll be interesting."  
  
"Hardly anyone from Spectra's been there, either," Jason said. "What's the betting Zoltar tries to crash the party?"  
  
"I guess that's where we come in," Princess said. She smiled at Jason. "Cheer up," she urged. "You know what Mark always says."  
  
"Yeah: ‘Don't fire the bird missiles until I tell you to,’" Jason recounted.  
  
Princess aimed a playful swat at Jason's shoulder. "‘Cross your bridges when you come to them,’" she corrected, failing in her attempt not to laugh.  
  
"Okay, I give in," Jason said. "By now, I should know better than to try and argue with you when you're determined to cheer me up."  
  
"Sensible man," Princess said. She surveyed the scene in front of her: there were few military personnel to be seen in this part of Camp Parker. Colonel Henderson’s regulars didn't intrude on the Chief’s residence and the protective services staff did their best to be unobtrusive.  
  
  
  
  
Camp Parker had been established by Security Chief Noor Parker in 2118. She'd originally named it 'the San Bernadino facility,' but her successor Gabriel Fontaine had decided to rename it after his predecessor. Security Chief Walter Conway had allocated a large chunk of it to the G-Force project in 2149 and for the young G-Force operatives, it had become the place they thought of as home. As youngsters they had swum in the lake, climbed the trees and roamed every inch of Parker’s extensive grounds. Parker was ostensibly a training facility and as the cold war with Spectra had warmed up over time, other ISO agencies had been invited to use Parker as well. The activity provided plausible cover for G-Force’s movements. It wasn't unusual to see a squadron of Naval Aviators using the airstrip and the training rooms. Space Patrol interceptors came and went. Air Force, Army and Marine Corps aircraft were frequent visitors. White ISO M-MET and MMT models were such a regular occurrence that hardly anyone except for the tower controllers paid a lot of attention. Everybody watched for the _Phoenix_ , though. It was a point of pride for Camp Parker regulars that this was a G-Force base, even if they weren't allowed to tell anyone about it. This visit though, the _Phoenix_ -watchers had been destined for disappointment: the G-Force command ship was undergoing a major service at Center Neptune and the team had arrived on the Multi-Modal Executive Transport ship _Gyrfalcon_.  
  
Princess had always enjoyed the time she spent at Parker. It had been the second place she'd ever thought of as 'home,' and the one that had remained so for the longest. Princess had never imagined she was anything other than 'normal' for only a few brief years of her life. Then her mother had died in a car accident and her world had caved in around her. Her father had never been part of her life, so she had gone from being the same as many other children to 'that poor little girl' and 'an orphan' in one fell swoop.  
  
While her guardians had been unwaveringly kind to her, life in an orphanage had taught Princess that charity was an uncomfortable garment. Most of all, it taught her about being alone.  
  
When the G-Force programme had claimed her, it had offered her a chance to earn a place for herself and to belong to something. She had taken it, and held on to the closest thing to family that life was prepared to offer.  
  
The bonds between the five youngsters who made up the Federation's last and best defence against non-conventional incursions were strong. Nobody else could understand what it was to stand aside from the human race, to know that they were not only different, they had been _made_ to be different, and could never tell anyone who didn't have the right kind of security clearance just how different they were. The psychologists tried to understand how G-Force thought. The doctors and bio-technicians tried to understand how G-Force worked. The trainers and support staff tried to understand how G-Force fought.  
  
Nobody could understand what it was to _be_ G-Force. Except each other.  
  
Even so, there were times when Princess grew tired of being one of the boys and sought out the company of women.  
  
She had befriended Lieutenant Francine Patrick, the youngest member of Chief Anderson's security detail. Fran was only a couple of years older than Princess. Importantly, she also had the 'special' security clearance that went with her job which meant that Princess didn't have to watch every word she said.  
  
Through Fran, Princess had gotten to know the rest of the security detail a little better and occasionally spent time with the other female officers. Being one of the girls was quite different from being one of the boys. It was a short stroll around the corner from the courtyard of the G-Force residential block to the section used as quarters and offices by the security detail. Princess found Major Alban and Lieutenant Colonel Jones in the staff kitchen with mugs of coffee and tea.  
  
"Hey." Shay Alban's greeting was casual. Technically, since Princess' nominal rank was that of Lieutenant, Major Alban outranked her, but ISO protocol was that if you were part of G-Force, you effectively outranked pretty much everybody. Shay claimed to have no respect for authority (except for her own, of course) but Princess was fairly certain that Shay's 'bad attitude' act was just that - an act. What Princess was one hundred percent certain of was that Shay - and indeed any member of Anderson's detail - would take a bullet for any member of the G-Force team if called upon to do so.  
  
"Morning, Shay," Princess said. “Morning, Al.”  
  
"Good morning,” Alberta Jones said. “Shay’s made coffee if you want some.”  
  
"Just had some," Princess said, “but thanks all the same. I was hoping to catch Fran before she goes on duty.”  
  
“Did I hear someone mention my name?” Fran Patrick hurried into the kitchen, hands busy at the nape of her neck as she fastened her sleek black hair back in a neat ponytail and pulled up short at the sight of her OIC and 2IC chatting with her friend. "Morning, sirs!" she said. Jones gave her the tiniest of nods.  
  
"Good morning, Lieutenant," Jones said. "You've got enough time to inhale some coffee before you relieve Lieutenant Maxwell. I daresay Miss Anderson can accompany you."  
  
"Yes, ma'am!"  
  
Alban finished stirring cream into the fresh cup of coffee she’d been making and handed it to the junior officer. "Don't get used to the breakfast service, kid," she said. "I'm just treating you kindly before you get your assessment results."  
  
Fran went pale. "My..."  
  
"Breathe, Lieutenant," Jones said. "You might wish to take a moment to remember Major Alban's management policy."  
  
"Oh." Fran took a deep breath. "Uh... ‘Keep 'em on their toes,’ ma'am?"  
  
"Precisely. You may consider yourself duly kept on your toes. Drink your coffee and see Lieutenant Maxwell for handover."  
  
"Yes, ma'am!"  
  
Princess waited until Fran had gulped down her coffee, rinsed her mug, put it in the dishwasher and taken leave of the senior officers, then the two young women left the staff room and headed outside.  
  
"You've been making yourself scarce this weekend," Princess observed.  
  
"Yeah,” Fran said. “I had my performance appraisal yesterday, and Saturday I kept my head down. I guess Friday night's what you really want to know about, isn't it?"  
  
Princess grinned. "Of course! I want to hear all about your date with Jason before we get on the transport. We can’t talk about girl stuff with the boys listening in!"  
  
Fran smiled. "It was great. We went to the Impulse Club and danced, then he took me to Disco Doc's for burgers and we talked. Princess, he actually _listened_ to me! He's so nice! And interesting! And he’s polite and respectful into the bargain! The only problem was that we didn't realise how late it was. We got back here around oh four hundred. I slept through my alarm and I was late for briefing Saturday morning."  
  
"Fran!"  
  
"I know. Colonel Jones is so strict about everything, but everyone says I'm on a fast track leadership path and I'm the youngest officer ever on a Chief of Service protection detail, so I have to work hard and keep my nose clean to show I deserve it."  
  
"You've done that, haven't you?" Princess asked.  
  
"Yeah, well I nearly blew it with the Viper incident," Fran said. "I got sent for take-out and the building went 'boom' while I was down the street! Mother Superior was _not_ amused."  
  
"No offence," Princess said, "but we kinda managed okay."  
  
"Yeah, I missed all the fun."  
  
"I don't know that I'd define the Viper incident as 'fun,'" Princess said. "It got pretty bloody at the end." She tossed her head, flicking back a straying lock of hair, and looked up into a cloudless sky to see a white-painted shape resolving itself from a blot into the familiar outline of a current model Quanto Tobor Multi-Modal Executive Transport vessel. She watched as the lumbering craft made its approach, then switched from cruise to anti-grav propulsion and manoeuvred itself earthward. Princess' enhanced vision made out the name emblazoned on its side. The M-MET, dubbed _Osprey_ , was both armed and armoured, tricked out in the ISO's trademark white livery right down to the defensive laser cannon array. The windows, Princess noticed, were dirty, and there was what looked like an extremely large bird dropping on the tail fin. Princess watched as the M-MET disappeared from view behind the buildings.  
  
"Hey, Josh," Fran greeted Lieutenant Maxwell. "Anything I need to know?"  
  
"Nothing new, Fran," Maxwell said. “He’s in the house. Transport’s just landing now.”  
  
"I have the watch," Fran said. She followed procedure, standing to attention and saluting. Maxwell returned the gesture.  
  
"You have the watch," he said.  
  
  
  
  
Alban and Jones, no longer casual in their demeanour but brisk and professional in their movements, followed standard procedure, boarding the vessel while Lieutenant Patrick remained outside on the ramp with her colleague Lieutenant Thorne. The all-clear was given and the senior officers re-emerged, then Jones placed a call on her palm unit.  
  
Princess watched as Mark and Keyop filed out of the house. Her gaze lingered on her Commander's trim form as he strode out toward the transport, the breeze playing with the dark chocolate mane of his hair. He didn't look at her, his attention focussed on the M-MET. Keyop trailed behind Mark, clutching a comic book in one skinny hand. Tiny paused next to his teammate on the porch, a solid youth running his fingers through spiky brown hair.  
  
"It always feels weird, being a passenger," the pilot said.  
  
"You'll have the _Phoenix_ back, soon," Princess said. "Once you're through yelling at the engineers, anyway.  
  
"The engineers don't have to fly her after she's had a service. I do. I figure I'm entitled," Tiny reasoned.  
  
"I guess you are, Tiny," Princess agreed, and followed him out to the transport. Jason, last to leave, trailed behind her.  
  
The security officers waited at ease by the ramp as ground crew loaded baggage and G-Force embarked. They fell in smartly behind Chief Anderson as he boarded, with the off-duty officers bringing up the rear for the return trip to Center City.  
  
The M-MET's passenger cabin was predictably plush. Keyop was already playing with the entertainment unit installed in front of his seat. Mark was asking the cabin attendant if he could sit up front with the pilots and Jason was making the most of the available leg room while exchanging glances and surreptitious smiles with Fran Patrick, who seemed to be enjoying the scrutiny. Tiny was settling in and looked as though he was planning to fall asleep. Which left Princess with the security staff or Chief Anderson for company.  
  
Anderson was already at work, Lieutenant Colonel Jones sitting next to him in the aisle seat. Jones proffered a transparent data strip made of a thin slice of perspex with a glittering fleck embedded in one end. "Passwords for the day and the latest copy of your schedule, along with the associated risk assessments, sir," she was saying, her precise English accent slicing the air.  
  
"Thanks, Al." Anderson took the data strip and fitted it to his own palm computer as Princess took the window seat next to him. "President Kane's rescheduled me _again_?" Anderson commented, scrolling through the schedule he had just downloaded. The embarkation ramp closed and the hatch sealed with a hiss of hydraulics.  
  
"The price of infamy, sir," Jones commented softly, "if the scuttlebutt's to be believed."  
  
"What does the rumour mill say this time?" Anderson asked. The M-MET's engines began to thrum and the transport wobbled slightly as it lifted off. Princess smiled to herself. Mark had probably talked the Captain into letting him take the right-hand seat, and Mark's forte was fighters, not heavies.  
  
"Our contact on the Presidential Security Detail has it that the First Lady remains supremely miffed over the way you took it upon yourself to seal the Council chamber during the Van Allen Belt affair and is out to stymie any possible political advantage you might achieve as far as the Gaia mission is concerned."  
  
"Laureli Kane has a memory like an elephant," Anderson observed. "It's been a year." Anderson let his breath out in a small sigh, trying not to focus on the twinge of pain that arose whenever he recalled the events of the day Mark found out who his birth father was. "So if the President's putting off our meeting," Anderson said, wrenching himself back to the here and now, "it's probably because Laureli's working on him at every opportunity. And she isn't short on opportunities."  
  
"They do say that sleeping regularly with a man is one way to get his attention," Jones remarked.  
  
"Alex Kane isn't my type," Anderson parried wryly. Jones managed an Arctic smile but didn't laugh.  
  
Princess could no longer contain her curiosity. "Does this mean the goodwill visit to Gaia is off, Chief?"  
  
"I doubt it," Anderson said. "There's too much at stake for the First Lady to try anything that drastic, and President Kane is no fool, but we'll probably find that we have to bring a politician along with us -- most likely Laureli will push for Danny Xiao. He's her personal favourite for heir apparent."  
  
"I thought the voters were supposed to choose the leaders in a democracy," Princess said.  
  
"Only insofar as the voters get to choose from the choices they're given," Anderson said.  
  
"So, why doesn't the First Lady want you to get credit for the Gaia mission?" Princess asked. "You're not a politician."  
  
"She's afraid I exert too much influence," Anderson said with a grimace. "I've got better things to do at the moment than play politics."  
  
"Is it just me," Princess wondered, "or did this mission suddenly get complicated?"  
  
"It's a different kind of complication," Anderson said. "Things like this are never simple."  
  
"It seems straightforward enough to me," Princess argued. "Zoltar's a royal pain for both the Gaian Commonwealth and the Federation, so why don't we team up and deal with him? What's the problem?"  
  
"Power," Anderson said. "Individuals on both sides want to protect their own personal and political power."  
  
"Even if it costs lives?"  
  
"Now you're talking in terms of morality. If everyone only ever made moral choices, there wouldn't be a war. I'd be a medical researcher in a lab somewhere and you'd be wondering what to wear to the prom."  
  
"Medical research?" Princess changed tack. "Is that what you wanted to do before you joined G-Sec?"  
  
"It's how I started out," Anderson said.  
  
"Let me guess: it's a long story that you're not going to tell me?" Princess said.  
  
"It's pretty boring stuff," Anderson demurred. “Late nights in the lab, tutorials, lectures and way too much cold pizza. Mostly it’s ancient history.”  
  
Princess looked away from her mentor's dark eyes and turned her attention to the window. The M-MET was barely subsonic. There was nothing to see beyond clouds and the vapour trail streaming off the stubby guidance fins of the vessel. Princess found herself wondering what she might have done with her life had it not been for the war. It was a nice thought: a world without war, Princess mused, but she was pragmatic enough to know that the only way for that dream to become a reality would be for the Federation to win, and win decisively. _What would I do if Spectra were defeated?_ Princess asked herself. She ticked off options in her mind: She could stay with Galaxy Security and have a career path that could take her a long way; she could transfer into another branch of the ISO; she could quit altogether and use her war service benefit to buy a little business somewhere; she could get married and have the house with the white picket fence and two point five children... Of course, Mark might have something to say about this last option. She drifted into a pleasant daydream of white satin, roses and babies wrapped in lace shawls.  
  
The tone of the M-MET's engines changed as the aircraft began to descend into the Center City Controlled Airspace Zone. The transport cruised out over San Francisco Bay then arced back in toward the city on a slow, easy descent. Some eighty years ago, where the blue waters of the bay sparkled, another city known as San Francisco had hugged not quite the same stretch of coast. Rich with colour and history, it had been a cultural icon for more than two centuries.  
  
Then The Earthquake hit.  
  
Living on top of the San Andreas Fault, the denizens of San Francisco had been used to earthquakes. Even major tremors had been something that the city's residents had learned to live with. Technically, The Earthquake was a series of shocks at or close to 8 on the Richter Scale with their epicentres directly under the city on a previously quiet fault that branched off the San Andreas, but survivors and their descendants called it The Earthquake. It was possible to _hear_ the uppercase letters when they spoke of it. Those skyscrapers not destroyed had been so badly damaged they had to be demolished. Freeways became twisted ribbons of destruction. A large portion of the old city had been reclaimed by the sea, the very coastline altering in the land's own memorial to the tragedy. Hundreds of people were killed, many more injured, bereaved and homeless. The entire planet mobilised itself to aid in relief efforts. The only redeeming feature of the disaster was the fact that the death toll numbered in the hundreds rather than the tens of thousands: alert seismologists, armed with more technology than had been available in years gone by, had issued warnings forty-eight hours prior to the big quake, but still, many people had declined evacuation, refusing to believe that it could ever happen.  
  
Human beings have always been stubborn and the foundations of New San Francisco had been laid within two years of the old city being abandoned. A commemorative park was built over what was deemed to have been the epicentre of the quake. The construction site, then the city itself came to be nicknamed "Epicenter City." Eventually, the name was shortened to "Center City" and it stuck.  
  
The ISO Tower loomed over Center City, easily the tallest structure in the cityscape. No one built above sixty floors any more, not in these parts, where despite humankind's best efforts, Mother Earth could still spring the odd nasty surprise with a shrug of her geological shoulders. No-one except the ISO, an organisation whose influence (and ability to flout local planning regulations) was exceeded only by its literally stellar hubris.  
  
The design of ISO Tower had won several architectural awards and had been duplicated in cities throughout the Federation. Fetching as it was, however, the design didn't allow for any external landing pads of sufficient size to accommodate anything larger than a small helicopter or Mini Multi-Modal Transport, which necessitated the incorporation of an executive hangar at Level Ninety. _Osprey_ broadcast a veritable plethora of encrypted codes, its transponder working at maximum capacity, to trigger the opening of the blast proof doors before easing into its allotted space and settling onto the reinforced concrete floor.  
  
"See you later, Chief," Princess said as Anderson and his security detail rose from their seats. Fran Patrick smiled dazzlingly at Jason, who limited himself to a smirk as Colonel Jones gave her subordinate a stern look. Jones and Fran disembarked, sounded an all-clear, and were followed out by Anderson and Thorne. The remainder of the squad trailed behind them, then the hatch closed, and Princess watched through the grubby windows as the group crossed the hangar and vanished into the security station. The M-MET's engines began to wind up again and Jason stirred in his seat.  
  
"Now that it's just us," he said, "let's find something halfway decent on the sound system for the trip to Center Neptune!" He punched in a code on the armrest of his chair and the cabin speakers blared into life with music from Dirty Name Five's latest album.  



	3. He Took his Vorpal Sword in Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have some political manoeuvring, we meet the Spectrans, there's a briefing by Zark (oh, joy!) and the team embarks on a journey to a distant planet.

Gunnery Sergeant Miles McAllister looked up from his desk as the elevator chime sounded out in the lobby. From his vantage point, the Security Chief's administrative officer could see out of his doorway, down the hall to the elevator lobby itself. McAllister, a tall, fit African-American Marine, had been severely injured on the front lines at the start of the war. The replacement of his right leg and eye with cyber-prosthetics had led to the loss of his combat status and subsequent transfer to a desk job at the ISO Tower. The job had its compensations, however: his regular hours in the city meant he could go home to his wife and two young children just about every night. He also got to rub shoulders with G‑Force and a lot of the top brass, which made him the envy of many of his old comrades. Not that any of them would admit it.  
  
The elevator disgorged four passengers as expected: two security officers, one Security Chief and one security coordinator, right on schedule. 7-Zark-7 had advised McAllister as soon as the M-MET had landed, allowing the sergeant some lead time to ensure that everything was just the way the Chief liked it. Mostly, this constituted the steaming cup of black coffee now sitting on McAllister's desk, hot and ready to be taken into the big office.  
  
The officers of Anderson's protection detail greeted the Site Security officer on duty in the lobby and split into two groups: two following Anderson and one heading in the opposite direction toward the administrative offices at the other end of the hall.  
  
"Morning, sir," McAllister said as Anderson strode in.  
  
"Gunny," Anderson acknowledged without breaking stride. The Chief of Galaxy Security keyed the code to his office, opened the door and disappeared inside. McAllister picked up the mug of coffee and followed Anderson into the office while Fran Patrick took up her station outside the door next to Nathan Thorne.  
  
Anderson put his briefcase down and touched the control on his desk that had the blinds rolling open to reveal the view of Center City through the big picture window.  
  
“Coffee, sir,” McAllister said, placing the mug on a somewhat-stained coaster next to the blotter.  
  
David Anderson glanced up at him. "Thanks, Gunny," he said absently.  
  
"Can I get you anything else, sir?" McAllister offered.  
  
"Not just now, thanks."  
  
“Very good, sir.” McAllister turned and left the office. He shut the door with a gentle click of the mechanism before turning to the security officers on duty. "Coffee's brewed if you want some, sirs," McAllister told them.  
  
"I'll grab one later, Gunny," Francine Patrick said. "I'd love a cup of coffee, but I daren't leave my post. I had my performance assessment with Mother Superior and I have a feeling she's still writing the report up. I gotta keep my nose clean. I've already been 'less than prudent,' apparently."  
  
"Why, Lieutenant, what'd you do?" McAllister asked as he walked back to his chair.  
  
"I went on a date with Jason, Friday night." Fran grinned despite herself. "We stayed out late, I overslept and I got _spoken to_ after shift briefing. At least she didn't chew me out in front of the rest of the squad, but everyone knows what it means when she says, ' _A word, if you please,_ ' in that tone of voice."  
  
"Colonel Jones tear you a new one?" McAllister asked.  
  
"She told me it would be, _'unwise to allow a workplace romance to interfere with my duties,'_ " Fran mimicked her OIC's cut glass English accent.  
  
McAllister leaned back in his chair. "That's all?"  
  
"She told me to think carefully about what I was doing in case things went south. How is it any of her business who I go out with? It's my life and it's outside of duty hours! It isn't like Jason's a security risk, and he isn't in my chain of command, so it doesn't breach one-oh-nine part five."  
  
"True enough," McAllister agreed, "but let me play Devil's Advocate for a sec'. You know I have two girls of my own, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"They're still just kids, but one day they're going to want to date and if I thought one of them was going to start up a relationship with a co-worker, I'd be concerned. Angela and I would sit her down and have a good long talk about the risks. You ever think that maybe the Colonel's just looking out for you? If things don't work out with Jason, it could be awkward for you at best."  
  
"This is a security detail, not a nunnery," Fran said. "I'm pretty sure I can look out for myself."  
  
"I'm sure you can, Lieutenant," McAllister said. "Just remember that older people got to _be_ older people by being young first and surviving our mistakes."  
  
  
  
  
Anderson sipped at his coffee as his desktop computer booted up and synchronised itself with his palm unit. He checked that that there were no new items in his inbox requiring urgent attention, then called up a number on his comm.  
  
The holo display lit up with an impressive government crest and the caption read, 'CONNECTING.' The crest was momentarily replaced with the simulacrum of a middle aged woman who answered, " _Vice President's office -- Oh, hello, Chief Anderson_."  
  
"Good morning, Soulla. Is Mrs D'Castro available?"  
  
" _For you, I'm sure she is. One moment, please_."  
  
The screen reverted to the government crest with the word, 'HOLDING.' After a minute, the caption altered itself to 'SECURE MODE LEVEL 9' and another face appeared: a woman in her early fifties with immaculately coiffed and curled light brown hair and pale blue eyes. " _Hello, David_ ," the Vice President said.  
  
"Julia," Anderson greeted her. "How are Peter and Graham?"  
  
" _They're fine, but you didn't call my private line to ask about my family. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say you're calling about the Gaia goodwill mission_."  
  
"Got it in one," Anderson said. "My meeting got bumped again and my Ouija board keeps coming up with the initials 'LK.' Any insights?"  
  
" _You'll have to give me the name of your clairvoyant_ ," D'Castro laughed. " _Not that it takes a psychic to figure out that Laureli would like to see you join the priesthood as soon as the war is over_."  
  
"Which one? I hear the NeoAztec Bloodletters have an interesting medical plan. What's the word on Gaia?"  
  
" _The word is that Kane refused to appoint you Delegation Head. They still want G-Force, but I'm afraid you won't be in charge_."  
  
Anderson bit off an expletive. "Tell me they're not sending Danny Xiao."  
  
" _Your Ouija board was way off with that one -- not for want of trying on Laureli's part, though. Alex is sending someone else_."  
  
Anderson frowned. "Who?"  
  
" _Me_ ," D'Castro announced. " _Guess who I insisted on having along as chief advisor and all-round shitkicker?_ "  
  
"Thanks, Julia."  
  
" _Of course, if you were to conduct any top secret, ultra-compartmentalised operations that I had no way in the Galaxy of knowing about, I could hardly be held responsible, now, could I?_ "  
  
"No-one would dream of it, ma'am."  
  
" _So if it hits the fan, it's your ass. I’m a politician. I dodge the shit. You collect it and make it go away.”_  
  
"Just so, Madame Vice President."  
  
" _I’m glad we agree. We’ll be holding the press conference tomorrow morning. Soulla will send you the details as soon as the PR people have all the details confirmed. I’ll see you there. Bring G-Force. People hardly ever ask too many pointed questions when they’re busy gawking at your team._ " D'Castro closed the connection and left Anderson staring at a blank screen, his mind racing.  
  
  
  
  
The ISO M-MET _Osprey_ descended over the Pacific Ocean. Turbulence as it passed through layers of cold air barely troubled the craft with its inertial mitigation fields keeping the passengers comfortable within the well-appointed interior. As _Osprey_ passed through one thousand feet, the Captain prompted Mark to begin his let-down checks and the G‑Force Commander flicked easily through his checklist.  
  
The M-MET touched down, floated and rocked on a gentle swell for a moment before Mark confirmed initiation of the final stage of the submersible cycle and a moment later _Osprey_ sank below the waves.  
  
Princess turned her attention to Jason. “You’ve been quiet since we left Camp Parker,” she chided. “Are you ever going to tell us how it went?”  
  
"How what went?" Jason hedged, stretching out in his seat, hands linked loosely behind his head.  
  
"Fran's my friend," Princess reminded him, smiling. “You’ve been walking around looking pleased with yourself all weekend and I’m not waiting another minute to hear how your date went!”  
  
“Hey, yeah,” Tiny said. “You didn’t get back until early Saturday and you haven’t told us anything!”  
  
Keyop merely rolled his eyes and made a rude noise, effectively communicating his opinion of all things romantic.  
  
"Busted, huh?" Jason inferred.  
  
"Jase..."  
  
"Don't think you can get around me by flashing those big green eyes," Jason warned. "Save that move for Mark."  
  
"Ow. No fair." Princess half turned in her seat, propping herself up by one elbow against the backrest. "Fran really likes you. _And_ she has a high level security clearance. She's perfect for you! What do you think of her? Are you going to call her?"  
  
"Okay, okay, I like her. She's a lot of fun and we really connected Friday night. I'm going to call her."  
  
Princess' smile blossomed. "That's great. So, when are you going out again?"  
  
Jason’s grin matched Princess’ smile. "As soon as we can work it into our schedules."  
  
  
  
  
Mark left Tiny overseeing the engineers performing the ultra-fine tuning on the _Phoenix_ 's cockpit systems. Tiny liked to have his baby just 'so' and the technicians weren't going to get any peace until the big pilot was happy. While Tiny fussed over the command ship, Mark made his way through Space Center's labyrinthine corridors with the unerring ease of an old hand. He stepped into the elevator with a couple of female junior IT techs who giggled and greeted him with a chorused, "Good morning, Commander!" He returned the greeting politely, but coolly.  
  
On the same level as the G-Force Ready Room there was an office area with five partitioned cubicles where the team could retreat to carry out basic administrative tasks. Mark's was easy to spot, as there was a yellow balsa wood Tiger Moth and a plastic model Mustang P51-D hanging from the ceiling above it. Mark fell into the ergonomic chair at his workstation and turned on the terminal. He logged in and keyed up a channel to ISO Headquarters on the mainland.  
  
The screen resolved itself into an image of Gunnery Sergeant McAllister.  
  
"Hi, Gunny," Mark said. "Can I speak with the Chief, please?"  
  
" _I'll put you through, Commander_ ," McAllister said. Mark waited a beat for his call to connect.  
  
" _Mark_ ," Anderson greeted him.  
  
"We're good for go, Chief," Mark reported. "Tiny's just having a few things tweaked in the cockpit. He found the fruit in the rations locker, by the way, and had it replaced with spaceburgers. Any word on the mission briefing, yet?"  
  
" _I expect to have something by this afternoon_ ," Anderson said. " _In the meantime, have Zark run you through some background information on the Gaian Commonwealth_. _The Veep wants us all at the Palace tomorrow morning for a press conference about the trade delegation. I’m still awaiting final details but Zark will keep you in the loop._ "  
  
"Big ten." Mark made to close the channel but Anderson spoke again.  
  
" _Mark?_ "  
  
"Yes, Chief?"  
  
" _How... I mean... Are you okay_?"  
  
"Yeah." Mark let his breath out in a long exhalation. "I'm okay. The fact that we're going on a mission helps. I have something to focus on so I’m not brooding over Papa’s anniversary. It was good to talk about it over the weekend, too."  
  
" _As long as you're okay_."  
  
"Don't worry, Dad. I'm really okay."  
  
  
  
  
When the systems on the _Phoenix_ were finally running to Tiny's satisfaction, Mark assembled his team in the ready room. The giant wall screen was illuminated with the image of 7-Zark-7, Nerve Centre's Artificial Intelligence unit.  
  
" _Chief Anderson has asked me to provide you with information on the Gaian Commonwealth,_ " the robot announced. " _No doubt you already know some of what I'm about to tell you, but bear with me. We robots are nothing if not thorough when we're asked to perform a task, and to be entrusted with briefing you is quite --_ "  
  
"Why don't you let us be the judge of how boring it is?" Jason broke in. "Just start. If it gets too bad, I'll throw popcorn or something."  
  
" _I was merely going to say --_ "  
  
"Zark," Jason warned, "I have access to power tools."  
  
" _I hardly think that's necessary_ ," the synthesised voice turned frosty.  
  
Jason leaned back in his seat and folded his arms, ignoring Princess' disapproving frown. For some reason that Jason couldn't fathom, she seemed fond of the garrulous machine. Mark, on the other hand, was making an heroic effort to keep a straight face, probably, Jason mused, more out of consideration for Princess than for Zark.  
  
" _The Gaian Commonwealth_ ," Zark said, " _is a socio-political union of some fifteen member worlds headquartered on the planet Gaia. The Gaians have had interplanetary travel capabilities for the last five hundred and seventy years that we know of, and are a far older civilisation than ours. It's highly classified, but the transmutation technology you use for your transformations was developed using knowledge provided by a Gaian scientist who came to us fifteen years ago._ "  
  
"That must have been Professor Pier," Jason reflected. "I knew he was from off world, but he never said he was Gaian."  
  
“Not to us, anyway,” Princess said, “but we were pretty young at the time.”  
  
“Kind of explains why he was so short,” Tiny remarked. “What?” he asked in response to the looks the others gave him. “Gaians are shorter than Earth people!”  
  
_"The Gaians,_ " Zark continued, _"are a peaceful people who hold art and social engineering in high regard. They have a small scientific community but tend to focus on developing what they already have rather than making new discoveries, and they spend very little time or effort on military development. They have a small defence force which mainly carries out border patrols, anti-piracy operations and escorts, and they rely for nearly all of their defences on the planetary shielding systems they've had in place for the last three hundred years.  
"Gaians are humanoid, generally of diminutive stature and place great value on Guild and familial bonds. The Guild system has been in place for some seven hundred years and to all intents and purposes, seems geared around the preservation of knowledge rather than new research and development. Far more emphasis is placed on the arts and social services than on science or the military."_  
  
"No wonder they've decided to get chummy all of a sudden," Jason remarked.  
  
"Zoltar," Keyop said sagely. “Having him sniff around the back door’s enough to make anyone want to join Neighbourhood Watch!"  
  
" _The Gaian government_ ," Zark continued relentlessly, " _is a Monarchy with a partially-democratic system of government encompassing all member worlds of the Commonwealth. The current Gaian King is Pillase the Third, who is aged thirteen. Until he comes of age, the effective ruler is the Regent, the Dowager Queen Miriane, Pillase's grandmother. Ministers of State are appointed by the Sovereign from among the Gaian aristocracy._ "  
  
"The Gaian people can't elect their own leaders?" Princess inferred, wide eyed.  
  
" _The Gaian people elect representatives who sit on local councils which then send delegates to the Convocation,"_ Zark explained. _"Local officials are also elected. They're not feudal overlords. In fact, their system seems to work quite well."_  
  
"I'd rather be able to cast a vote," Princess said.  
  
"You still end up with a politician," Jason said wryly.  
  
"Enough from the peanut gallery, already," Mark said. "What else do we need to know about Gaia, Zark?"  
  
" _Would you like me to tell you about the Gaian Interstellar Patrol?"_  
  
"Sure," Mark said. "Let's hear it."  
  
  
  
  
Commander Veshkanian took a deep breath and let it go again. As he exhaled, he let his eyes drink in the vista portrayed on the bridge's main view screen: a great blue, green and white swirled arc of world glimmering in brilliant sunlight. Behind the curve of the planet, one moon had already risen and the bright face of another one was just beginning to emerge. They were both full from this angle. Veshkanian had ordered his navigator to take particular care in ensuring they had the sun behind them. Solar interference would obfuscate the ship’s return on planetary radar and detection systems, keeping them effectively invisible. It had been a long trip from Planet Spectra, and Veshkanian wasn't about to spoil things by being sloppy at the penultimate moment. Besides, attacking out of the sun was essential if you wanted to do it right. Veshkanian always did things right, and with a panache that had become his personal trademark.  
  
"The Gaian colony world Xixas," Sub-commander Derel, the navigator said, unnecessarily if one were purely concerned with information, but the announcement was essential for anyone engaging in a moment of dramatic imperative. "They named it after some love-child of their great mother-goddess."  
  
"How typically atavistic of them," Veshkanian said, with perfect understanding of the Moment. The command crew waited respectfully for their leader to speak again. Veshkanian stood in one smooth movement, seeming to flow up out of the command chair. His uniform was a black and red version of the standard trousers and tunic of the Spectran military, with the addition of a high collared cape for those little moments of drama that being a Commander required. "I will address the crew, now," he said, squaring his shoulders.  
  
The communications officer activated the ship's address system. On screens and speakers throughout the vessel, a chiming tone alerted the crew to the fact that an all-stations call was being initiated. "Go ahead, Commander," the communications officer murmured.  
  
Video screens flickered into life with Veshkanian's image. "This is Commander Veshkanian," Veshkanian said, just in case anyone was left in any doubt. "We have arrived at our destination and are now in orbit over the Gaian outpost Xixas. In slightly under an hour's time, we will be directly overhead our target, the planet's primary settlement and site of the main shield generator. At that time, we will begin our attack. We remain undetected by the planet's surveillance systems, and I will rely upon each member of the crew to ensure that we remain so. Hail, Spectra!"  
  
The dutiful response of, _"Hail, Spectra!"_ echoed through the ship, not least on the bridge. It was a Moment. With perfect timing, the communications officer waited for the cheer to subside before closing the channel.  
  
"I think," Veshkanian remarked as he resumed his seat, "Our little Gaians are in for a very nasty day."  
  
  
  
  
"Good call on the Gaia mission, Colonel," Anderson remarked as he walked into the executive kitchen with his empty coffee cup. Jones was disposing of a tea bag.  
  
"Are we staying or going, sir?" she asked, not bothering to beat around the bush.  
  
"We're going," Anderson said.  
  
"Ah," Jones said, and sipped at her tea as Anderson rinsed his cup.  
  
"Where's your sense of adventure?" Anderson twitted his security coordinator, correctly interpreting the monosyllable for what it was. He refilled his cup from the coffee pot.  
  
"At home, sir, with an ice pack and a bottle of aspirin, recovering from its last outing," Jones said, straight-faced.  
  
"Tell it to pack," Anderson said, and toasted her with his coffee mug. "We're going to Gaia."  
  
"I shall struggle to contain my exuberance, sir."  
  
Anderson made for the door. "Lighten up, Al. I know there's a reason I like working with you," he said, "and one of these days, I'll remember what it is."  
  
Jones managed to fire off one last shot, however. "If you'll let Gunny have your dress uniform, sir, he'll see that it's cleaned and ready for you."  
  
Anderson stopped walking and had to remind himself to breathe. "My... Seriously?"  
  
"Of course, sir. It's a matter of protocol. Whilst you'll be, as I understand it, officially part of a trade delegation, security will be one of the topics up for discussion and you'll be there as the ISO representative. You can get away with civilian attire most of the time, but there’ll be at least one occasion where you'll have to turn out as General-in-Chief of Galaxy Security."  
  
"Al, there are probably entire ecosystems of moths living in my dress whites --" Anderson began to protest.  
  
"All the more reason to ensure that you do us all proud, sir. I'll let Gunny know to send someone around to the house this afternoon, shall I?"  
  
Anderson clenched his teeth. The worst of it was that Jones was right. He was going to have to practice returning salutes properly, damn it. And he was going to have to wear the hat... the one that always made him feel like a wannabe third world dictator with all the silver braid. God, how he hated that hat! Long-suppressed memories of Drill Sergeant Adamson from the Academy snarling about haircuts arose unbidden to mind. Anderson made a conscious effort not to groan. "Fine," he said. "Do whatever you have to do, Colonel. Break out the polish and requisition however much spit you think you'll need from the Quartermaster."  
  
  
  
  
"Twenty seconds to intercept," Flight Commander Pago said, his voice sounding far calmer than he had expected.  
  
" _Hurry!"_ the Xixas flight controller urged. " _The shield's at twenty -- no, twelve -- Goddess! They're breaking through!_ " Pago clenched his jaw at the pandemonium he could hear in the background: screams, breaking equipment, an alarm claxon shrieking. He took a deep breath. Less than a minute now and this feeling of helplessness would pass.  
  
"Let's make this count, men," he told his squad. He flexed his hands on the control column of his fighter. It was fortunate that his squadron had been so close when Xixas Outpost had sent its distress call. The Spectrans had been growing ever bolder, of late. Their first two attacks on Gaian colonies had failed, repelled, as they had always been, by the Shield systems that prevented enemy incursions on Gaian Commonwealth worlds. The third attack, some months previously, had been on a mining asteroid. The Shield had been penetrated and the asteroid occupied by Spectran forces. The Shield generation equipment had been destroyed in the attack, but Zoltar had gone on to take two more colonies with all their population and natural resources, despite the Shields.  
  
Not for the first time, Pago swallowed bile, his stomach roiling. The Shields had not failed Gaia since they had been put in place a little over three hundred Gaian Cycles ago. It was unthinkable, a nightmare, and one from which there appeared to be no awakening.  
  
Stars streaked past his view screen and he made yet another check of his tactical display. His wingmen were flying tight and precise, with their on-board computers synchronised with his own navigational control, as they would need to be when they dropped out of hyperspace.  
  
A chime sounded and the computer spoke: _"Hyperspace vector terminates in twelve... eleven... ten..."_  
  
Pago took a deep breath and steeled himself for the discomfort of translation.  
  
  
  
  
"Pago's wing has entered the system, Minister," Captain Eckeng reported. "Visual contact in five seconds."  
  
Viscountess Iringhalara Haa, Minister for Defence of the Gaian Commonwealth, deliberately unclenched both her jaw and her fists. Standing in the centre of the Operations Room, she squared her shoulders and tilted her chin upward in an unconscious gesture of defiance.  
  
"Let us pray that the Goddess protects them," she said, sounding far more calm than she felt. "What is the status of the Xixas Outpost?"  
  
"We are unable to re-establish contact with the Outpost," Eckeng said blandly.  
  
The Viscountess swallowed and clasped her hands behind her back. _Surely I am accursed to hold this position at such a time_ , she mused. She let her gaze sweep over the tense, bloodless faces of the Operations staff, some of them wearing expressions of despair, helplessness, rage and distress. One or two seemed on the verge of tears. _We are not a people fit for war_ , Iringhalara Haa reflected. _We are altogether too civilised for our own good_. She adjusted the black mourning _stola_ draped over her left shoulder, fiddling with the folds as though finding something for her hands to do might help. _As if any of this helps_ , she told herself bitterly. _Empty gestures of mourning for people and colonies that can never be brought back! It is only a matter of time before the rest of the Commonwealth falls, even to the home world, and who will mourn us then?_  
  
There was still, she reminded herself, the Federation. Perhaps that large and politically aggressive organisation would come to Gaia's aid -- if it suited them. The Intergalactic Federation of Peaceful Planets, an ironic name for a political alliance of worlds confined to the Milky Way and boasting one of the largest military forces in known space. No doubt the Federation could provide valuable assistance in resisting the Spectran threat, but it would never do so out of simple altruism. No, for the Federation to defend Gaia, there would have to be some critical military, economic or political advantage to be had. Yes, Gaia would have to give her rescuers something they wanted. _What will their price be?_ the Viscountess wondered. At worst, the Federation might demand that Gaia become a full member state of the Federation, surrendering her autonomy and signing agreements that would see all of the Commonwealth's carefully guarded technology handed over to the ISO. It would be a political and economic surrender of sovereignty rather than a military one. _Would we simply be exchanging one master for another_?  
  
"They have intercepted, Minister!" Eckeng said, his voice tight.  
  
"Goddess be with us all," Iringhalara Haa said, steeling herself.  
  
  
  
  
Deirdre Kelly took a deep breath. It didn't really help, so she tried another one. "You okay, boss?" Moira asked from the doorway of Kelly's office.  
  
"Fine," Kelly said automatically, then caught herself. "I have to go talk to the Chief." Galaxy Security's Director Intelligence got out of her chair and made her way down the corridor. Gunnery Sergeant McAllister was behind his desk, opening the mail. "Gunny," Kelly greeted him.  
  
"Go on in, Director," McAllister said. "Can I get you some coffee?"  
  
"No, thanks," Kelly demurred. "I don't think I'll be here long enough for coffee."  
  
Security Chief Anderson put down the file he'd been reading and motioned for Kelly to take a seat. "You needed to see me?" he said by way of greeting.  
  
Kelly sat down, perching on the edge of the seat as though for a quick getaway. "I noticed you've been accessing certain files out of the archives," she said.  
  
Anderson leaned back in his seat and gave his colleague a calculating look over steepled fingertips. Exactly what he might have been calculating was anybody's guess, but Deirdre Kelly sometimes wondered if it was the market value of the chemical components in the body of whoever he was looking at. "I've been accessing just about every file with a reference to the Gaian Commonwealth," Anderson said.  
  
“And were James Anderson’s mission logs particularly enlightening?” Kelly asked.  
  
Anderson’s expression didn’t change. “Let’s cut to the chase,” he said.  
  
“Okay,” Kelly said. “Are you planning on conducting an off-the-books investigation into your brother’s death?”  
  
“Are you afraid I’ll put this mission at risk?” Anderson countered.  
  
“Can you blame me?” Kelly asked. “You two were very alike in some ways.”  
  
“In some ways,” Anderson agreed, “but I was never as reckless as Jay.”  
  
“Don’t start now,” Kelly said. “If you don’t get the Gaians on side this time, we could lose thousands of lives, maybe even the war. Dave, you’ve got to keep your head in the game.”  
  
“I know,” Anderson said. “I’m not my brother, Dee. I would never endanger the mission for the sake of a personal vendetta. You have my word.”  
  
“That’s all I need,” Kelly said.  
  
Director Kelly was almost out of the door when Anderson spoke again: “What if I hadn’t given you the assurances you were looking for?”  
  
Kelly turned and regarded her Chief of Staff with a cool stare. “I would have gone over your head. This one’s bigger than you.”  
  
One corner of Anderson’s mouth lifted. “ _Quid custodiet custodes_? I’d expect no less, Director.”  
  
  
  
  
“ _Gaia!_ ” Sorcha Anderson said, her mouth tight and her violet eyes narrowed with concern on the tele-comm screen. “ _That planet’s cursed as far as this family’s concerned. Your mother was about to take up that Ambassadorial post when your parents were killed, then Jay… I wish you weren’t going, David_.”  
  
Anderson checked the contents of his briefcase and closed it. “Don’t worry, Gran,” he said. “Anyway, it isn’t as though I’ll be taking the kinds of risks that Jay liked to run. I’ll be with the Vice President, her entourage, our Embassy staff, two full security details and G-Force.”  
  
“ _Are either of those security details yours?_ ” Sorcha asked.  
  
“Yes, Gran. Twelve personnel. All of whom have keeping me alive as priority one in their job descriptions.”  
  
“ _At least you’ve got more sense than your brother_ ,” Sorcha conceded. “ _Promise me you won’t do anything dangerous_.”  
  
“Gran…”  
  
“ _Oh, so you_ are _going to do something dangerous! You know you can’t lie to me, young man!_ ”  
  
“Have you been talking with my security coordinator?” Anderson asked. “Because I swear the two of you would get on like a house on fire.”  
  
“ _Oh, really?_ ”  
  
“Yes: flames, toxic smoke, destruction of property and people screaming in pain and terror.”  
  
“ _I’ve told you before not to be facetious_ ,” Sorcha said.  
  
“Well, you can’t ground me, Gran. I leave for Gaia this afternoon. Hopefully the Veep’s going to be able to secure the trade agreement and make some progress toward a treaty. It could be vitally important for the war effort.”  
  
“ _Oh, yes. The War_ ,” Sorcha said with an exasperated glance at the ceiling. “ _The Great Excuse. Well, at least promise me that you’ll be careful. That’s more than Jay ever did_.”  
  
“I promise I’ll be careful,” Anderson said. “I’ll be fine. You’ll see. It’s a trade mission, Gran!”  
  
“ _A trade mission,_ ” Sorcha echoed mockingly. “ _That’s why you’re bringing twelve bodyguards with you!_ ”  
  
A chime sounded from the desk. “I have to leave for the press conference now, Gran. It’ll be live on GNN.”  
  
“ _And you in that awful suit!”_ Sorcha complained.  
  
  
  
  
The VIP transport ship _Pegasus_ was about half the size of the _Phoenix_ and shaped, as Jason put it, 'like a paper aeroplane.' _Pegasus_ ' dartlike shape, silver fuselage and sleek lines made her look fast, even at rest on the hardstand, and although her warp engines were capable of high factor space shots, she rarely operated at more than one third of her top speed. Politicians and diplomats liked to get where they were going quickly, but not at the expense of their comfort.  
  
_Pegasus_ lifted off from Seahorse Base, her stubby wings gleaming in the sun. The _Phoenix_ followed at a safe distance, slightly above and astern to port to avoid the transport's wake turbulence.  
  
Both ships climbed in a shallow ascent.  
  
"We could have stayed on the ground and caught up after lunch," Tiny grumbled, casting a jaded eye over his console.  
  
"Yeah, but this way they get to look out the window and see us in formation. They're not exactly climbing at max rate, are they?" Jason observed.  
  
"That thing's a souped up limo," Mark said. "They're not bad to fly as long as you don't have passengers on board."  
  
"That's the trouble," Tiny said. "They nearly always have passengers on board. I wouldn't take that job for all the tea in China."  
  
"You don't drink tea," Keyop pointed out.  
  
"All the more reason," Tiny said.  
  
Keyop yawned and leaned over his station, elbows on the console, chin cupped in his hands. "Boring!" he declared. "Might as well take a nap."  
  
"I don't think so," Mark said.  
  
The sky darkened and the horizon acquired a curve. The _Phoenix_ continued to climb and Tiny increased the oxygen flow to the engines. Artificial gravity took hold and Tiny made adjustments to take the ship out of atmospheric and into space flight mode. They shadowed the _Pegasus_ up and out of the solar orbital plane and into open space.  
  
"Incoming signal from the _Pegasus_ ," Princess announced, and activated the tele-comm screen.  
  
"Phoenix, _this is_ Pegasus," the transport's Captain said. " _We're ready to synchronise nav systems_."  
  
"Go ahead, _Pegasus_ ," Mark said. "We're standing by."  
  
Tiny activated controls on the command console as the link between the _Pegasus_ and the _Phoenix_ was established. "We're in synch," he reported after a moment.  
  
" _Pegasus_ ," Mark said, "confirm navigational synch in the green."  
  
" _Confirmed_ , Phoenix."  
  
"Take us to Gaia, _Pegasus_ ," Mark said.  
  
" _We'll be travelling a little slower than you're used to_ ," the Captain said. _"Enjoy the ride_."  
  
"Will do," Mark said. " _Phoenix_ , out." He closed the channel.  
  
"Enjoy the ride!" Tiny snorted.  
  
"We'll all be monitoring the systems, Tiny," Princess said.  
  
"Yeah, well," Tiny said, "the buck stops here." He glared at his console, as though daring it to return a reading he didn't like. [1]  
  
Nobody spoke. Jason stared at the gleaming silver shape of the _Pegasus_.  
  
Tiny began powering up the engines in response to a signal from the other ship. "Factor four!" he muttered. "It's going to take all week!"  
  
"I guess politicians have a low pain threshold," Jason said.  
  
To an outside observer, the two ships would have appeared to wink out of existence like an old fashioned television screen being turned off. There were no outside observers at the time, so whether this actually happened might have made for an interesting discussion about Zen, and Schrödinger’s Cat   [2] may well have been dragged into the conversation at some point.  
  
Jason, who was not thinking about Zen or Schrödinger’s Cat, had automatically tensed himself for the accustomed burning pain that always came as the _Phoenix_ tore through the boundaries between the normal space time continuum and hyperspace. As usual, it began with a feeling like a cross between a banged funny bone and an ice cream headache, but when that sensation didn't turn into a searing wave of pain, he opened his eyes to see the cabin seem to ripple in a shimmering haze.  
  
"Weird!" he heard Keyop exclaim.  
  
There was a peculiar sensation like a rubber band being snapped back into shape and they were in time warp.  
  
"That's low-factor time warp for you," Princess said, sounding uncomfortable.  
  
"I don't know what's worse," Tiny said. "This is just wrong."  
  
The _Pegasus_ was visible off the starboard wing and the starfield was flowing gently by.  
  
"This is almost a pleasure cruise," Princess said. "All systems normal and on line," she reported. "Verifying navigational coordinates."  
  
"Cross checking," Tiny said. "Command console has us on course for Planet Gaia."  
  
"Confirmed," Princess said.  
  
"So far, so good," Mark said.  
  
  
  
  
"So far, so good," Julia D'Castro said, getting up out of her seat and looking out of the window. Her husband Peter smiled at her.  
  
"We've hardly started," he pointed out.  
  
"Every little bit helps," the Vice President said. "I hate time warp. Graham always says I'm a wuss. I don't know how those Space Patrol kids do it."  
  
David Anderson, who busied himself consulting his palm unit, said nothing. In the seat across from him, Alberta Jones had connected her palm unit to the shipboard computer system and was running a 3VC presentation that appeared to involve a range of weaponry. Anderson finished what he was doing and glanced up. "Let me guess," he said, "light armaments of Planet Gaia."  
  
"Have you seen it, sir?" Jones asked.  
  
"Just tell me about the interesting parts," Anderson said.  
  
"Their personal weaponry seems to reflect the overall non-belligerence of the culture," Jones said. "They seem to rely mostly on non-lethal pulse-type stun weapons unless they're going hunting. Their hunting weapons, on the other hand, are quite frightening."  
  
"Hunting _animals_?" Julia D'Castro echoed. "For _food_? How barbaric."  
  
"They consider it an elite sport, Madame Vice President," Jones explained. "It's the preserve of the Gaian upper classes, and I'm afraid food isn't their primary concern: it's trophy hunting."  
  
"Even more barbaric," the Vice President growled. "What are we going to do if we get invited to join them?" she asked with a look of distress at her husband.  
  
"We'll do the diplomatic thing, as we always do," Peter D'Castro said. "Grin and bear it – no pun intended."  
  
  
  
  
Keyop fidgeted and made another check of the tactical system.  
  
"If you're bored, we could always load one of Zark's educationals about Gaian culture," Princess suggested.  
  
"Nobody can be _that_ bored!" Keyop insisted.  
  
Jason stretched in his seat. "I read the book," he said, "and I know how it ends."  
  
"Very funny," Mark said, then turned and glanced at his second. "You didn't actually read the book, did you?"  
  
"It was that or listen to Zark!"  
  
" _You read the book?_ "  
  
"I accessed the ISO Library. Don't let it get out," Jason said, "you'll ruin my reputation."  
  
"So what did you learn?" Princess asked.  
  
"That we're in for an interesting cultural experience," Jason said.  
  
"That's not exactly specific," Princess said.  
  
"You'll see," Jason said.  
  
"What keeps coming up in everything I've seen," Mark said, "is that the Gaians really don't like outworlders."  
  
"Like us," Jason added.  
  
"But now they have to choose between us or Zoltar," Tiny said.  
  
"That ought to be a no-brainer!" Keyop said, tapping his helmet.  
  
"Except that one of our leading delegates is the Chief," Jason said. "Could be a tough choice."  
  
"Jason," Princess reproved, "that's mean."  
  
"I call it accuracy," Jason said.  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOTES:

  1. You may recall the events of _Space Rocket Escort_ , where the _Phoenix_ ’s nav system was slaved in a similar manner to the FY-9 star ship which was supposedly being delivered to Riga with G-Force flying escort. The FY-9 was hijacked and flown to Omeg-3 instead, with G-Force along for the ride, _and they didn’t notice until after they arrived._ I’d like to think that the team have learned from their mistakes.  

  2. Schrödinger’s Cat is the name of a thought experiment where the state of the eponymous cat – dead or alive – remains sort of ambiguous-ish until confirmed by way of observation. One thing is certain: the poor bloody cat is sick and tired of being stuck in that damned box over and over again. It is also possible that Erwin Schrödinger may or may not be reported to the authorities for cruelty to cats. But then again, outside observation has determined that he is quite definitely possibly dead. [3]  
  

  3. Or not. After all, he was buried _in a box_.




	4. Long Time the Manxome Foe he Sought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Federation delegation settles in at the Embassy. Chief Anderson does some old-time spy stuff. Diplomacy happens. Jason negotiates the hazards of a budding workplace romance.

"We've retained all the facilities for a full-scale embassy," Zachary Chen explained, "but of course, there's no ambassador. There hasn't been one for over forty years."  
  
"Forty-one years, to be precise," Anderson said.  
  
The _Chargé d'Affaires_ paused and did some mental arithmetic. "Why, yes, of course. Sorry if I touched a raw nerve, sir."  
  
"No apologies needed," Anderson said.  
  
The Federation Embassy to Gaia was a large, rambling compound constructed in the same ornate style as the spaceport buildings, all quasi-Grecianesque columns, Gothic-style arches and elaborate scrollwork. Anderson found his gaze drawn to spacious arches and gilded light fittings that would never have found their way past the concept drawing stage for an ISO installation. All form and no function, he mused. But then, Gaia had not had to consider the possibility that her magnificent architecture might be blasted to rubble and trampled underfoot by an alien terror machine, not for over four hundred years, so the Gaians might be forgiven for indulging themselves.  
  
Behind him, Anderson heard Mark murmur, "This place'd be wall to wall shrapnel in a fight."  
  
"Do you have to be so pessimistic?" Princess said. "It's beautiful."  
  
"Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder," Jason said.  
  
The offices were no less ornate, with busy cornices and domed ceilings. The furniture was gilded and riddled with fretwork and carving. Velvet, silk and tapestry abounded. Anderson found himself harbouring wistful thoughts about stainless steel and polymer laminate.  
  
There was some relief to be had when Chen finally showed them the bunkers that had been converted from the old wine cellars. Whitewashed stone walls were illuminated with fluorescent strip lighting and the furniture appeared to have been imported from Earth. Anderson speculated that it had possibly been obtained from one of those large warehouse-type stores that sold mass-produced Scandinavian minimalist flat-packs by a diplomat gibbering from over-exposure to embellishment.  
  
The accommodation section was furnished in the elaborately fussy style of the rest of the embassy. While Chen settled the D'Castros in a sumptuously sprawling guest house, one of his staff escorted the Galaxy Security contingent to more modest rooms in the main embassy building itself. Princess expressed delight at the room assigned to her, while Jason's expression was one of pained forbearance. Mark managed to maintain a neutral demeanour, and Tiny simply looked bewildered. Keyop fidgeted, itching to explore what seemed to him to be some kind of fairytale palace. He was sure there would be secret passageways somewhere.  
  
Anderson stood in the doorway of his quarters, surveying the draperies.  
  
"I'll organise a security sweep of the rooms, sir," Jones said from the corridor.  
  
" _Semper vigilis_ ,” [4] Anderson said wryly.  
  
“I prefer the unofficial motto, myself,” Jones said.  
  
“How does it go again?” Anderson asked. “ _Si vos es vultus pro tribulatione inveneris_?”  [5]  
  
“That’s the one, sir.”  
  
Jones walked away, intent on finding the scanning equipment, leaving the Chief of Galaxy Security alone in a corridor that echoed with What Ifs. Possibilities crowded, leapt and tumbled, all demanding consideration. Ghosts of a past that might have been ran icy fingers down his spine and he stepped back from the room, pulled the door shut -- too hard; it slammed and the sound reverberated down the corridor -- then he strode away down the long, empty hall.  
  
  
  
  
Jason stood in the middle of the room he was to share with Mark and folded his arms. "Is there anything undecorated in this room?" he wanted to know.  
  
"Does it matter?" Mark said, opening the door to the _en-suite_ and peering inside. "Yikes."  
  
"Yikes?" Jason echoed.  
  
"The toilet has... this... gargoyle face moulded into the pedestal." [ 6]  
  
"Gilded?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Yikes." Jason perched on the edge of one of the beds. "It could be worse," he said.  
  
"How so?" Mark prompted.  
  
"The Gaians could have been into plaid."  
  
"Is that so bad?" Mark asked  
  
"As well as," Jason expounded. "Not instead of."  
  
"Yikes." Mark shuddered.  
  
In unspoken agreement, the two young men activated their transformers, returned to civilian mode, then sat down on their respective beds and began unpacking their duffels.  
  
"Hey," Jason said.  
  
"You're not going to give me any more unwanted mental images about over-the-top interior decorating, are you?" Mark asked.  
  
"I think my work there is done," Jason said. "Joking aside, skipper, you okay?"  
  
Mark took a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks for asking. The Chief and I had a long talk about it all at Camp Parker. It's hard to believe it's been a year since my father died. Hard to believe I was such an idiot about it all – and don't say it."  
  
"Aw, shucks," Jason said. "I'd been saving that line for ages. Because, y'know, it isn't hard. At all."  
  
Mark snorted. "My father the hero! I'm getting used to the idea of my father the human being, these days."  
  
"I guess that's healthy," Jason said. "What does Doctor McCall say about it?"  
  
"That it’s healthy," Mark said. "McCall says thinking of Cronus as a human being is a 'huge breakthrough.'" Mark made quotation marks in the air with his fingers. "I feel so sane."  
  
Jason chuckled. "So you finally got your daddy issues resolved. Good job."  
  
"What about you?" Mark asked. "You ever discuss your old man with McCall?"  
  
"Not much," Jason said, shrugging. "She asks how I feel about him, I tell her I still think he was a jerk. I know she wants me to 'work through my issues' – it’s her job, after all – but it has to be when I'm ready, y'know? And let's face it, he's not about to get any deader, is he?"  
  
"Guess not," Mark said.  
  
“Anderson scheduled an extra session for me a couple weeks back. He even tried to talk to me himself.”  
  
“About your father?” Mark asked.  
  
“Yeah. I think there’s some connection with Gaia. He asked me what I remembered about my old man’s death.”  
  
“What’d you tell him?”  
  
“The truth: don’t want to think about it.”  
  
“That’s harsh, Jase.”  
  
“So was my father. He took off and left us. Why should I care what happened to him after that?”  
  
“Did Anderson tell you anything?” Mark asked.  
  
“Tried to. I stopped him. I really don’t want to know. I think my old man must have been on the Embassy staff here or something. It doesn’t matter to me.”  
  
“Wow,” Mark said. "We really did approach our fathers from opposite ends of the spectrum, didn't we?"  
  
"Yeah," Jason agreed. "You idolised yours, I despise mine. I like Princess' attitude the best."  
  
"Don't know don't care?" Mark inferred.  
  
"That's the one," Jason said.  
  
"Or Keyop's?" Mark suggested.  
  
" _Never a father hast thou,_ " Jason said sagely. "Just so long as nobody wants to bury the little guy under a tower, it works for me."  
  
"What was that?" Mark asked.  
  
"Mythology," Jason explained. "The story goes that some old British king – Voldemort or something [7] – was building a tower and it kept falling down, so some seer guy told him to slake the foundations with the blood of a boy who had no father. They found one and the kid convinced the king not to sacrifice him by making some big prophecy about the coming of King Arthur. The kid grew up to be Merlin."  
  
"What, the old wizard guy?"  
  
"Yeah, the old wizard guy."  
  
"Um... okay," Mark said.  
  
"Don't look at me like that," Jason said. "My class studied Malory in school. You got Faulkner, remember?"  
  
"I try to forget," Mark said. "Now there was a guy with parent issues. What d'you think Doctor McCall would make of _My mother is a fish_?"  [8]  
  
Jason grinned. “We could flip a coin and see who gets to try it at our next psych evaluations!”  
  
  
  
  
Iringhalara Haa curtsied before the King, but when she rose again, her eyes were on the power behind the throne, Pillase's grandmother, the Dowager Queen Regent Miriane.  
  
"Your Majesties," the Minister for Defence said, her mien a study in deference.  
  
"Minister," King Pillase replied, and his childish voice slipped down an octave on the last syllable. He ignored it as he'd been taught, and so did the Minister. "The Federation delegation has arrived?"  
  
"Yes, Majesty," Iringalara Haa affirmed. "They were met at the spaceport three hours ago by the Prime Minister and representatives of the Guilds. They have since repaired to the Federation Embassy. Your most royal Majesty will meet them this evening."  
  
"What are they like, Irin?" Pillase asked, leaning forward, no longer a dread monarch but very much a curious boy.  
  
The Minister glanced at the Regent, who nodded, and allowed herself a smile. "They are very tall, Majesty. Their dress is sober and unadorned. They wear hardly any jewellery. Why, their Vice President wears only three gold and diamond rings upon one finger of her left hand, a single gold pin on her lapel, and a strand of _pearls_ about her neck. The men wear suits of a barbarian style in plain broadcloth."  
  
"Are they impoverished, then?" Pillase asked, frowning. "Everyone says the Federation is rich and greedy."  
  
"It is their way, Your Majesty," Queen Miriane said gently. "We must become accustomed to seeing past the differences we have with others."  
  
"Yes, Grandmother," Pillase said. “What of their soldiers, Irin? And G-Force?”  
  
“Majesty, their military uniforms are not unlike ours. Their tunics are cut from white cloth with silver buttons, bearing insignia and awards for valour. The members of G-Force wear bright colours in the form of birds of war. There is young man among them who looks to be about your age, and they have women among their fighters!”  
  
“Women!” Pillase considered. “Why would women want to fight?”  
  
“It is their way,” Queen Miriane said again. “And after all, we have had female fighters among our people. One of your favourite stories is the tale of the Virago of the North who defended her castle against invasion, is it not?”  
  
“But that’s a _story_ , Grandmother! These are real ladies who are soldiers! Do they have swords like the Virago?”  
  
“I am told they use sabres for ceremonial purposes. Perhaps you can meet some of them later,” Queen Miriane said. “What else do you have for us, Irin?”  
  
"We have received a recorded ultimatum from Zoltar, Majesties," Irin said. "The Cabinet has seen it. Shall I play it for your Majesties?"  
  
"No need," Miriane said. "The Prime Minister will regale us with Zoltar's latest capers and rants tomorrow, I'm sure. I didn't summon you here to speak about Zoltar. Tell us more of the Earthlings. Tell me of the son of my old friend Elaine Anderson."  
  
  
  
  
"Any time you leave your rooms from now on, you do so in full G-Force uniform," Anderson reminded Mark and his team. "I don't want anyone – even our own embassy staff – seeing you in civilian dress."  
  
"Good thing we've all got our own bathrooms," Jason muttered.  
  
“Yes, it is,” Anderson agreed. “Are there any questions? No? Dismissed.”  
  
Anderson waited for G-Force to leave the office he’d been given and leaned back in his chair. Ghosts of the past seemed to crowd the place, invisible and silent, but there nonetheless. Anderson shook his head and got out of his chair, telling himself that he was being foolish. A knock at the door brought his focus back to the here and now.  
  
“Yes?” he called.  
  
The door opened to reveal Lieutenant Colonel Jones. “I’m going for a walk to familiarise myself with the embassy compound,” she said. “Want to tag along?”  
  
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Anderson said.  
  
The afternoon was sunny but the breeze was brisk so both Anderson and Jones wore their coats out of doors. Two of the junior officers, Anna Yelchin and Peter Cho, shadowed their Chief of Staff at a polite distance, consulting a palm unit between them.  
  
“I suppose this is your way of taking me for a walk without my objecting to the leash?” Anderson said.  
  
“Well, you’ve clearly seen through my rather transparent ruse, haven’t you, sir?” Jones said cheerfully.  
  
“Or not, since you sound far too pleased with yourself,” Anderson said.  
  
“Hey! Wait up!” A familiar voice called and Anderson turned to see Mark striding across the lawn.  
  
“Commander,” Jones said with a nod.  
  
“So…” Mark said, “the Embassy grounds, huh?”  
  
“The gates and walls are exactly two point four metres high,” Jones said, gesturing toward the main entrance. “There’s a laser array that can be activated in the event of an alert which provides a barrier across the top of the wall and another one at twenty centimetres above ground level. You’ll note that all the hedges and garden beds are kept clear of the array. There are cameras providing one hundred percent coverage of the grounds and we have a secure uplink to Zark for the duration of our visit.”  
  
“Now I see through your not-so-transparent ruse,” Anderson said. “This is my orientation briefing and I can’t run away without looking like an idiot in front of the junior staff.”  
  
“Just so, sir.”  
  
“Well played, Colonel.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
Anderson thought he might have heard Mark snigger under his breath but when he turned to look at the young man, Mark’s expression was one of innocent interest in the compound. Altogether too innocent, really.  
  
They walked the grounds, passing under the bright red prow of the _Phoenix_ which took up a generous portion of scorched lawn behind the main building. There were two guards stationed by the ship who saluted as their Chief of Staff walked by. Jones pointed out security measures as they went.  
  
“I did read the briefing notes, you know,” Anderson remarked.  
  
“Yes,” Mark said, “but it’s no substitute for a physical orientation. I’ll be walking the team around the grounds after this.”  
  
“I hate it when everyone else is right.” Anderson grumbled. Something caught his eye and he stopped walking.  
  
Jones halted a pace and a half ahead of him. “What is it, sir?”  
  
Anderson reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew an old photograph. He held it up in front of him. In the photo, James Anderson sat on a low stone wall, the same low stone wall that was ahead of him now. _Jay’s thoughtful spot_ , read the handwritten caption on the picture.  
  
As a child, James had hated _Winnie the Pooh_.  
  
Anderson walked up to the wall. It was a standard retaining wall marking a raised garden bed, some kind of drystone construction made from the local granite. Using the photograph as a reference, Anderson sat where Jay had done and laid his left hand on the same stone.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Anderson took hold of the stone and attempted to move it. There was the slightest shift and he began to scrape the soil back.  
  
Mark exchanged glances with Jones, who said nothing but folded her arms and observed dispassionately. A small gust of wind lifted the wingtips of Mark’s cape and made them flutter.  
  
Anderson examined the stone. There was cement holding it in place. Cement, in a drystone wall.  
  
Anderson cast around for something to use as a tool. He glanced up in surprise when Jones stepped forward and offered him a standard issue ISO utility knife, hilt first.  
  
“You carry a knife?” he inferred.  
  
“You don’t?” Jones parried.  
  
“Thanks,” Anderson said. He scraped at the cement, which crumbled under the blade. “This stuff looks like spackle mixed with sand,” Anderson commented. He jabbed and twisted, and the improvised mortar fell away. Anderson lifted the stone and set it to one side, revealing an aged and yellowing plastic zip lock bag. “Always the spy, Jay,” Anderson muttered. He lifted the bag out of its dusty resting place and put the stone back.  
  
“I take it we’ll be completing the tour another time,” Jones said.  
  
“You take it correctly,” Anderson said. He handed back the knife. “Hope I didn’t damage the blade.”  
  
“You break it, you bought it,” Jones said, “but it’ll do for now. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”  
  
Anderson considered for a moment. “I just might,” he said. “Let’s go back inside.”  
  
  
  
  
Back in his temporary office, Anderson unzipped the plastic bag and emptied the contents onto the blotter on the desk. Mark took a seat in the visitor’s chair while Jones remained standing.  
  
A few papers and a small metal container fell out. Anderson struggled with the lid of the tin, which appeared to be glued shut. Jones handed her knife over again and the Security Chief used it to prise the lid off.  
  
“Well, hell,” Anderson said. “This data strip must be fifteen years old if it’s a day. Look at it. We probably don’t have a reader old enough to deal with the formatting.”  
  
Jones leaned back against a filing cabinet. “Sir, this is an embassy. There’s bound to be something.”  
  
“What, you mean the equipment doesn’t get updated?”  
  
“No, I mean our embassies are always full of spies. Where you get spies, you get contingencies.”  
  
“Of course,” Anderson recalled. “You’ve had several embassy assignments, haven’t you?”  
  
“Yes, sir. Not that I’ve ever done any spying, mind you. Well… not any _actual_ cloak and dagger stuff, anyway.”  
  
“Should I even ask?” Anderson wondered aloud.  
  
“You’re the Chief of Galaxy Security,” Jones pointed out. “I’m sure you can access all the mission reports you like.” She walked to the door and opened it. “I’ll be back shortly, I hope.”  
  
Anderson unfolded the papers and with a pang, recognised his older brother’s handwriting. He smoothed the pages out and began to read.  
  
Mark leaned forward. “This stuff was put here by your brother?”  
  
“Yes,” Anderson said. He handed over the brittle and yellowing paper.  
  
Mark took the sheet very carefully and read the untidy handwriting: _Dave. If you’re reading this, you were right, but so was I. Jay.  
_  
“Well, that’s pretty cryptic,” Mark said, handing back the note. “He was a G-Sec field agent, wasn’t he?”  
  
“One of the best,” Anderson said.  
  
“So what does it mean, you were right but so was he?”  
  
“I was always telling him he needed to be more careful,” Anderson recalled. “The last conversation we had was me telling him not to be reckless.”  
  
  
  
When Jones returned some time later, she had a handful of computer components that she connected up to an adapter which fitted into the access slot on Anderson’s desk. To his relief, Anderson found he was able to access the data strip.  
  
Curious, Jones remained at his side, leaning on the desk so that she could see the screen. Anderson glanced up at her. “Hold still,” he warned, and reached up to lift a long dusty strand of cobweb out of her ash-blonde hair. “Do I want to know where you’ve been?” he asked.  
  
“The basement storeroom in this place hasn’t been dusted in years,” Jones grumbled. “You know, the oath covers dying for the Federation but it doesn’t mention getting filthy in the accumulated mess of ages.”  
  
“I’ll have that looked into,” Anderson quipped. “At the very least it ought to rate hazard pay. Pull up a chair, Al.”  
  
Jones did so and settled in to share in the revelation of the old data strip. A list of documents appeared on the screen.  
  
“Those file names look like they belong to standard embassy intel reports,” Jones observed.  
  
“They are,” Anderson said. He opened one of them. “These are Jay’s reports back to Intel Division. I’ve read these… wait…” He scrolled through to the end. “This is different. Jay’s personal notes. Stuff he didn’t want to send back to Earth… Damn.” Anderson half-turned in his seat to address Jones. “I know you read my file when you started this assignment,” he said. “It’s standard procedure. How much do you know about my brother?”  
  
“Not much,” Jones said. “I knew of his reputation when I was still wet behind the ears. Everyone heard stories and rumours about James Anderson. He was the super-agent who got the job done when nobody else could. It was all terribly glamorous until you realised that a lot of the people who got assigned to work with him ended up on the casualty list because he played by his own rules but didn’t tell anyone else what those rules were.”  
  
One corner of Anderson’s mouth twitched. “I notice you didn’t use the word, ‘reckless’ even once,” he said.  
  
“I imagine you’ve heard it enough that I don’t need to, sir.”  
  
“True. I used it myself often enough. Not that he ever listened to me.”  
  
“So how much of the legend was true?” Jones asked.  
  
“Most of it,” Anderson said. “James was reckless, ruthless and defiant, but he was good at what he did. Chief Conway let him get away with it because Jay got results and he usually retained enough presence of mind to allow for plausible deniability. At his best, he was the agent Conway turned to when he needed someone to achieve the impossible. At his worst he was a loose cannon, a danger to the agency and its personnel.”  
  
“How come I never heard any of this ‘legend’?” Mark asked.  
  
“You’re about fifteen years too young,” Anderson said. “Jay’s methods weren’t exactly Academy standard. I guess I could have held him up as a good example of how _not_ to do things, but he wasn’t the kind of role model you needed.”  
  
“Is that…” Mark struggled for words. “Is his… way of doing things why you… you know, why you like to do things by the book?”  
  
“Not really, although I won’t say he didn’t influence me. We were two very different people,” Anderson said. “You know our parents were murdered when we were just kids.”  
  
“Yes,” Mark said.  
  
“Jay was obsessed with it from the word go. He never let it rest. Our grandmother tried sending him to therapy – she sent us both, naturally enough, but Jay wouldn’t let it go. In his teens he figured out what they wanted to hear and made all the right noises to stop the sessions, but it was always there, just below the surface. He was always driven by revenge.”  
  
“And you weren’t?” Mark asked.  
  
“Not _driven_. Not the way Jay was. I didn’t see we could possibly achieve anything. Jay wanted to go to military school but Gran wouldn’t hear of it.  She enrolled us in a Catholic boarding school in the hope of drumming humility and morality into our heads. I won’t say it didn’t work with me but I’m damned sure it didn’t work with Jay. Gran was willing to pay the exemption levy to get us both out of doing Federal Service but Jay signed up for Galaxy Security as soon as he turned eighteen. Then once he turned twenty-one and had access to his trust account he got himself into ISO West Point. Gran was furious but Jay had somehow managed to impress enough people during his year of Federal Service that he had all the recommendations he needed and he was legally an adult. He and Gran had a blazing argument and didn’t speak to each other for years.”  
  
“Your grandmother’s still alive, isn’t she?” Jones said.  
  
“Yes. Still going strong. She was the initial human subject for some of the first generation cerebonic nanites that Bob Halloran and I developed at Harvard.  Ninety-six and she still performs for charity benefits when the mood takes her.”  
  
Jones smiled. “My mother was a huge fan of hers. Her favourite album was Sorcha Anderson as _Madame Butterfly_ recorded live at New Chicago.”  
  
Anderson smiled in reminiscence. “Jay and I were backstage for that one,” he recalled. “Now you know why I hate opera. Until I was old enough to object, I spent nearly all my school vacations hanging around rehearsals and concert halls.”  
  
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Jones said. “I spent mine in holes in the ground all around the Galaxy, digging up pottery shards.”  
  
“So why’d you join the ISO?” Mark asked.  
  
Jones shrugged. “I wanted to see the Galaxy as it is now, not as it used to be.”  
  
“So you got your wish.” Anderson said.  
  
“I did. Shame about the neighbours, though.”  
  
“One of these days we’ll convince them to stay off our lawn,” Anderson quipped.  
  
“So why did you join the ISO?” Jones asked. “You had a stellar career ahead of you as a scientist and your work was in the area of medical nanotechnology. Or are we getting above my clearance level?”  
  
“Even early in his career,” Anderson explained, “Jay was being noticed by people at the top. He brought my work – by way of a copy of my hard drive that he stole from my lab on a visit, if you don’t mind – to the attention of the Deputy Chief of Galaxy Security, one Walter Conway. Conway saw potential in certain aspects of what Bob Halloran and I were doing and he recruited us. Jay was the point man. He convinced me that we could make a difference. Conway offered us a deal we… well, I suppose we _could_ have refused it, but at the time we didn’t see any better alternatives so we took it.”  
  
Mark nodded. “Well, Chief, if you hadn’t, G-Force wouldn’t exist,” he remarked. “And yes,” he said to Jones, “any more detail than that _would_ be getting above your clearance level. No offence.”  
  
“None taken, Commander,” Jones said. “I always thought your career path was… atypical, Chief.”  
  
“That’s one way of putting it,” Anderson said. “I might have been content to stay and work in Special Projects forever, but Jay was Conway’s favourite son. He was ruthless and did whatever Conway needed done without asking questions. He was Conway’s go-to man for anything murky and in return Conway turned a blind eye to Jay’s off-the-books investigation into our parents’ deaths.  Conway must have figured it ran in the family because he let Jay talk him into pulling me into field work as well, assessing scientific projects for ‘acquisition’ by Galaxy Security. He partnered me with Marshall Hawking and I’d been on a few missions when Jay told me he’d tracked the assassin who killed our parents. It was a freelancer who did a lot of work for Spectra, a man who used the code name Charon.”  
  
“Good grief,” Jones murmured. She did some mental arithmetic. “Charon was killed on the Proxima Centauri Independent Space Station back in… That was _you?_ ”  
  
“Jay, actually,” Anderson said. “I agreed to go with him on the condition that we apprehended Charon and brought him in through channels. Jay said all the things he knew I’d want to hear and like an idiot, I went along with it. We managed to capture Charon and Jay started the interrogation. I protested but Jay wouldn’t listen. He didn’t want to arrest Charon, he wanted revenge. He started torturing the man. We argued and Jay killed him. The last thing Charon said as he died was, ‘Not Spectra.’”  
  
“ _Not Spectra_?” Mark echoed.  
  
“Jay stabbed him in the chest and said something about Charon’s Spectran employers being next on his list. Charon just smiled and said, ‘Not Spectra,’ then he died. There was nothing I could do.” Anderson took a deep breath. “I was furious. Jay and I had the worst argument we ever had. I told him I was through helping him. I even threatened to turn him in to our superiors but Jay laughed in my face and told me Conway wouldn’t touch him. In the end, G-Sec sent a cleaning crew and covered everything up. Jay didn’t even get a slap over the wrist. I was told to shut up and keep my nose clean.”  
  
“And Conway ended up appointing you as his deputy, and then his successor,” Jones recalled.  
  
“He figured he had my number. I did as I was told, worked my way up the ladder. Made changes where I could.”  
  
“I noticed there were a couple of resignations among the Executive team after you took over.”  
  
“Yes,” Anderson said flatly. “There were.”  
  
“So… If Spectra didn’t hire Charon to assassinate your mother, the other major player was the Gaian Commonwealth.”  
  
“Yes, so Jay got himself assigned to the Embassy here.”  
  
“And was killed four years into a five-year posting,” Jones recalled.  
  
“Al, did you ever wonder why I appointed you to head up my security detail?” Anderson asked.  
  
Caught off-guard by the apparent _non-sequitur_ , Jones tilted her head slightly to one side. “I entertained a few theories; not all of them were charitable. My favourite one was that you wanted to annoy Director O’Hara.”  
  
“That was just a side benefit,” Anderson said. “He gave me a shortlist of candidates for the position. They were all loyal G-Sec officers. I don’t doubt for a moment that Director O’Hara was simply trying to suggest people who’d do a good job protecting me, but every single one of the officers he’d chosen had done… work for Chief Conway.”  
  
“The way you say ‘significant pause, work’ suggests something potentially unpleasant.”  
  
“Did you ever meet Chief Conway, Al?”  
  
“Never had the privilege, sir.”  
  
“I’m supposed to be ruthless, but next to him I’m the freakin’ Easter Bunny. He was okay with Jay carrying out this mission.  He liked having independent thinkers at executive and management level. He didn’t mind being challenged because he knew he could work around us, but when it came to agents and uniforms, he liked people who didn’t ask questions.” Anderson picked up his coffee cup, realised it was empty and put it back down on the desk. “Yes, part of it was that I was showing Director O’Hara that I could not only pee higher on the tree than him but that I could pee on a totally different tree if I wanted to, but a big part of it was that you were focussed on keeping people safe. When we met you didn’t just blindly follow orders. You goaded me – you frankly insulted me at several points. Don’t think for a minute that I’ve forgotten that crack about the pills. You’d served off world, you’d actually faced Spectra and survived, and I hope that if I ever look like I’m going to do anything as unethical as this,” Anderson gestured at the screen, “you’ll remind me of this conversation.”  
  
Jones leaned over and picked up the empty coffee cup. “Don’t you have an Executive team for that, sir?”  
  
“Yes,” Anderson said, “but none of _them_ have ever tackled me onto the carpet.”  
  
“Only because the opportunity’s never arisen, I’m sure, but yes. If ever I think you’re turning into Chief Conway, I’ll remind you of this conversation. And then probably run away very fast.”  
  
“I can live with that,” Anderson said.  
  
“And now,” Jones said, “I’m afraid we all need to start thinking about this evening’s reception.”  
  
Anderson buried his face in his hands. “It’s dress whites isn’t it?” he groaned through his fingers.  
  
“Yes, sir. Try to cheer up. We’ll all be wearing them, and you can be grateful that double-breasted coats look a lot better on men than on women. I always look like I’ve stuffed a pillow down my blouse in dress whites.”  
  
“I believe,” Anderson said carefully, “that this is one of those times when I should refrain from commenting if I don’t want to attend sensitivity training.”  
  
“And on that note,” Mark said, “since my team doesn’t need to wear dress whites, I’d better take them for their orientation tour. Al, do you have a map of the grounds?”  
  
“There should have been one in your briefing notes, sir,” Jones pointed out.  
  
“Uh… yeah,” Mark said. “I kind of uh… well… _skimmed_ the briefing notes.”  
  
Anderson made a study of the ceiling.  
  
“I’m not that bad,” Mark said in his own defence.  
  
“You’re exactly that bad,” Anderson said, while Mark fished his holo chip out of a belt pouch.  
  
Mark flipped open the face of his communicator and inserted the tiny round holo chip. Jones tapped in a few commands on her palm unit, touched it to Mark’s wrist comm and waited for the soft tone to confirm that the file had been transferred. A three-dimensional projection of the embassy complex appeared above Mark’s wrist. “Thanks, Al.”  
  
  
  
  
While Anderson and his officers wore ISO dress whites with the midnight blue and silver accents of Galaxy Security and the Vice President’s party and Embassy staff wore civilian evening wear, it turned out that none of them needed to have worried about being overdressed. Gaian formal wear was almost exclusively velvet in deep, rich shades of blue, violet, red, burgundy, yellow and green, bedecked with what looked like a king's ransom in jewels. The cut of the men's robes put Anderson in mind of portraits of Henry VIII, only with baggy velvet trews rather than hose, whilst the women wore elaborately draped gowns. Little velvet caps with tassels appeared to be _de rigueur_ for both sexes. Each individual, males and females alike, wore brooches, necklaces, rings, bracelets and pins on almost every available surface. Anderson noted that the Gaians didn't seem to go in for piercings of any kind, but adorned themselves in every other possible way with gemstones set in precious metals.  
  
_Like walking Christmas decorations_ , Anderson mused uncharitably. At least it made him feel better about his uniform. Protocol demanded that this evening he be General Anderson, Chief of Staff, Galaxy Security, Interplanetary Security Organisation whether he liked it or not. His staff seemed far more at ease than he did - probably from practice at holding those detestable hats tucked under one arm and juggling whatever else had to be held. They were easy to spot amongst the Gaians with their snow-white tunics stark amongst the riot of colour.  
  
There had been all the requisite pomp and ceremony as the Federation delegation was presented to King Pillase, who looked very small and young under the heavy Crown of State. The boy seemed fascinated and looked as though he wanted to ask a thousand questions, but protocol demanded that the Royal Dignity be maintained and Pillase made an heroic effort to remain regal and reserved. The young king had been clearly reluctant to leave, but the royal party made a decorous exit and left the party to its business.  
  
Thus far, Anderson had been introduced to about a dozen Gaians with complicated names and even more complicated titles. Zachary Chen was dancing attendance on Vice President D'Castro while Colonel Jones stood at Anderson's side along with her Gaian counterpart who made the introductions while Jones subtly prompted her Chief of Staff as to what he should say to whom. Jones smiled and made small talk, offered up flattery and asked leading questions which thankfully spared Anderson from having to try and drive the conversation. Somehow, Jones' reserve and formality seemed to be charming the Gaians, who smiled, laughed, made jokes that Anderson didn't understand then shook his hand again and vanished into the crowd to make way for the next colourful local keen to meet an offworlder.  
  
Anderson resisted the urge to tug at his collar. He was quite certain that whoever had designed ISO dress whites was some kind of sartorial sadist, and quite possibly a friend of Lieutenant Colonel Jones, who had subjected him to the kind of inspection he recalled from his days at the Academy. At least she’d done it in the privacy of his office. Jones had paced very slowly in a measured circle around her Chief of Staff, checking every seam, crease and button.  
  
“Shouldn’t I be past all this?” he’d grumbled.  
  
“On the contrary, sir,” Jones had said, “you’re supposed to set an example for the rest of us. And this,” she had added, scrubbing furiously at a silver button with a handkerchief, “is not a good example!”  
  
“I thought,” Anderson had said, “that I promoted you to Lieutenant Colonel, not Drill Sergeant Nasty.”  
  
“Hat,” Jones demanded, holding out an imperious hand. Anderson had handed it over to allow Jones to examine it. She’d handed it back to him and he automatically tucked it under his arm in the approved fashion. Jones made some minute adjustment to Anderson’s lapels. “You’ll do,” she finally conceded.  
  
“Oh, thanks,” Anderson retorted. He’d almost expected to be sent back to his room to polish his shoes.  
  
Dress whites didn’t particularly suit Jones, Anderson noted uncharitably. With her colouring the white broadcloth with its silver trim made her seem rather wan. She wore just enough makeup to keep from looking completely ghostly and her ash blonde hair was scraped back in a severe chignon which might have been flattering had she left the odd tendril here and there, but she hadn’t. The cut of the double-breasted coat made men appear broad-chested but Jones had been right: it made her look like a top-heavy and anaemic pigeon. The midnight blue of the Galaxy Security day uniform definitely suited her better, Anderson decided.  
  
Anderson’s thoughts were dragged back to the present when Zachary Chen emerged from the crowd at the elbow of a diminutive – even among the Gaians – but gorgeously-attired middle-aged woman who seemed on the verge of being crushed under the weight of several hundred carats of brilliant cut peridots. An unobtrusive nudge from Jones had Anderson acknowledging the new arrival.  
  
"The Minister for Defence," Chen said, "Viscountess Iringhalara Haa. Minister, the Federation's Chief of Galaxy Security General David Anderson."  
  
"A pleasure, Minister," Anderson greeted her.  
  
The tiny Gaian smiled graciously. "Let us dispense with formalities as much as we are able, shall we?" she said. "If you have no objection, I shall call you David, and you shall call me Irin. I am well aware that my name is difficult to pronounce in any language!"  
  
"As you wish," Anderson agreed. "Your lack of formality comes as a pleasant surprise."  
  
"But of course, my dear fellow," the Minister beamed, "we Gaians have always been a friendly folk. We guard our hearths and our homes closely, but we have a saying here, that one may judge a person by the way he or she treats a guest once he is over the threshold!" She gazed up at him. "Forgive me for saying so, but you are very tall and I am not. Might I invite you to sit? If I remain standing, we might manage to do as you Terrans say, and 'see eye to eye'!"  
  
There were any number of chairs positioned around the room. Anderson followed the Minister to one and lowered himself onto it while the Minister of Defence accepted a couple of glasses of something pale green and effervescent from a passing waiter. She offered one to Anderson, who took it.  
  
"Thank you," he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jones hovering discreetly a short distance away, having engaged a member of the Minister's staff in conversation.  
  
"Let us drink to hospitality and friendship," the Minister suggested expansively. Anderson saluted her with his glass and sipped cautiously. The beverage was alcoholic (fermentation of intoxicants seemed to be an almost universal vice among humanoids) and tasted like the smell of a freshly-mown lawn. Or at least the way a freshly-mown lawn might smell if it were mixed with equal parts rocket fuel and sugar. Anderson’s eyes watered and he was obliged to concentrate on breathing normally for a moment while his vision cleared. As a result he almost missed what the Minister said next: "You must tell me, David," she said, "what you think of our world."  
  
"Gaia is a truly beautiful and unique planet," Anderson said dutifully. Had he found Gaia to be a fetid quagmire, he would still have been obliged to praise its virtues, and he knew that the Minister knew it.  
  
"How gratifying you should think so," Irin said. "Not," she added, "that you have had much time for sightseeing. Naturally, it is of some interest to us," the Minister continued, her smile unabated, "as to why you are here."  
  
"The delegation -" Anderson began, but the Minister cut him off with a wave of one tiny and over-adorned hand.  
  
"Why are _you_ here?" she clarified. "Why is the Federation's Chief of Galaxy Security so involved in establishing relations for a trade agreement?"  
  
"It's of no small amount of interest to me," Anderson said, "as to exactly what we might be trading."  
  
"Of course," Irin sighed blithely, "you wish to obtain military technology. How refreshing of you to try and barter for it rather than steal it."  
  
"An intriguing choice of terms, Minister," Anderson said coolly. "Particularly if you choose to examine the facts."  
  
"We did not gift you with the transmutation technology, sir," Irin said, her voice losing its urbanity and becoming brittle.  
  
"And we didn't steal it from you," Anderson replied, meeting Irin's eyes and staring her down. He held the contact until she blinked.  
  
"What do you choose to call it, then?" Irin asked irritably.  
  
"We acquired a rudimentary knowledge of the transmutation process from a highly-regarded member of the Gaian scientific community who joined Galaxy Security’s Science Division of his own free will. You were well aware that Professor Pier was never coerced into working with us – and don't pretend that Gaian security agents weren't responsible for his death. We both know what killed him."  
  
"And you knew perfectly well that Pier had no right to sell that information!" Irin hissed.  
  
"Put yourself in our position, Minister," Anderson suggested. "We were staring down the barrel of a Spectran invasion threat. The transmutation technology was vital to our defence, and we improved on the _Fiery Phoenix_ variant effect beyond anything you were able to achieve. You still haven't been able to achieve a stable plasma state." _Except perhaps with what's in this glass._  
  
"We have not had need of it," Irin sniffed.  
  
"You need it now," Anderson told her softly. "Can you rely on your scientists to provide it before Zoltar finishes what he's started and conquers the Commonwealth?"  
  
"You underestimate the ingenuity of the Scientists' Guild," Irin argued. "They are only now beginning to focus on the plasma issue."  
  
"It took us nearly ten years," Anderson pointed out. "You've been a starfaring race for centuries. The actual advances made by Gaian science have slowed drastically over the last two hundred years and you know it. Earth moves ahead in leaps and bounds. We're at the point where we're almost ready to overtake you, and we're offering the hand of friendship. Are you going to let your pride stand in the way of progress?"  
  
"Earth's arrogance," Irin said, "is probably its most well-known trait! It may well be your downfall," she warned.  
  
"We're aware of our limits," Anderson said. "If we weren't, I wouldn't be here. I also know -- as you do -- that while the Federation stands to benefit from an alliance, you stand to gain just as much. You also stand to lose a great deal."  
  
"As indeed, do you."  
  
"Of course. If Spectra occupies Gaia and takes your technology by force, we'd find ourselves fighting against even greater odds than before. Our defeat isn't guaranteed, however. We don't rely on planetary shields the way you do. We have defensive infrastructure in place where you don't. If Spectra decides to take Gaia, there's no guarantee that the Federation Council would vote to assist you without a formal treaty in place."  
  
"You would stand by and see us overrun, then?"  
  
"If it couldn't be shown that it was in our best interests to help you," Anderson suggested, "the Council could well come to the conclusion that we were better off falling back and concentrating our efforts on the home front."  
  
"This is mere speculation on your part," Irin said archly.  
  
"But of course," Anderson agreed.  
  
Irin sipped at her drink, considering. "You propose to share the plasma transmutation protocols and systems with us in exchange for our shield technology?"  
  
"We'd want more than that, Irin," Anderson said. "Your shield technology is failing against the Spectran onslaught. We would expect to conduct extensive negotiations as far as the actual trade off would be concerned. Our scientists might even be able to do something with the shields, provided we knew how Spectra was exploiting the apparent weakness."  
  
"You think you could achieve such a thing?" Irin probed, her expression carefully guarded.  
  
"It's impossible to tell without more information -- and before you point out that you'd be releasing classified information to the Federation, let me remind you that Spectra already has at least some knowledge of how your shields work -- enough to bring them down, anyway."  
  
"It would not be possible," Irin said flatly. "The Convocation of Peers would never allow it."  
  
"Not without a treaty, at least," Anderson qualified.  
  
"Perhaps not even then," Irin said. "It is a matter of some sensitivity." Anderson arched an eyebrow, and Irin looked away. "You know how delicately one must tread in these situations," she said, almost apologetically.  
  
"To my everlasting regret," Anderson agreed.  
  
"We cannot all be so supremely self-assured as to seal off Council chambers and virtually imprison our own leaders until such time as we get our own way!" Irin added.  
  
"I suspect," Anderson mused wryly, "that incident will haunt me for a very long time."  
  
"I myself was quite impressed by your decisiveness," Irin recalled. "It must have taken, what is your expression? _Balls_."  
  
Anderson was obliged to think fast and speak carefully. "Uh, Minister... in polite company, it took _political courage_."  
  
"I think I like the other expression better. You Earthlings have no sense of style, but your language is colourful enough that it almost makes up for it."  
  
  
  
  
Mark angled the glass of water under the tip of his visor and sipped.  
  
"You must come out to the base," Flight Commander Pago insisted. "I don't know if we can get you cleared for a spin in one of our fighters, but you could certainly have a tour of the installation."  
  
"If our superiors approve," Mark said, "I'd be happy to."  
  
"Ah, yes," Pago sighed, "our superiors." Tall for a Gaian, with red hair that contrasted sharply with his dark green dress uniform, he stood half a head shorter than Mark and leaned heavily on a walking cane. "We're pilots," he said. "We probably understand each other better than any of those desk-bound bureaucratic paper peddlers!" He finished his drink. "Are you sure I can't tempt you with anything stronger than that gutter runoff?"  
  
"Water’s fine, thank you," Mark said.  
  
"Under orders, eh?" Pago inferred. "Ah, well..." He deposited his glass on the tray of a passing waiter and took a fresh one in what appeared to be one smooth movement. "Normally, I'd be as circumspect as you obviously are, but I've earned a drink!" He tapped the cane against the floor, his stiff left leg held out at an angle as he supported his weight with the right leg and the cane. "The surgeons tell me I'm lucky to be alive after the way those Spectran monsters knocked me out of the sky. Ah, well..." he said again.  
  
Mark followed Pago's gaze to where Princess was holding court, demurely seated on the Gaian equivalent of a _chaise-longue_ with about a dozen Gaian males, most of them wearing Gaian Defence Corps uniforms, clustered around her.  
  
"Your colleague," Pago said slyly, "seems to be far more popular than you are."  
  
"I hope I'm not making a social gaffe," Mark said, "but I don't see any Gaian female officers."  
  
"We do not ask our women to join the military," Pago said. "Very few of them wish to, and those that do are placed in non-combatant roles."  
  
"I didn't mean any offence," Mark said.  
  
"None taken," Pago said. "You seem to have quite a contingent of women among your people."  
  
"The majority of our citizens do at least twelve months of Federal service to qualify for tertiary education subsidies," Mark said. "Then with the war and everything, a lot of people signed up to do their part."  
  
"Including women?"  
  
"Including women, but I think most of the personnel we brought with us are career," Mark said.  
  
Pago chuckled. "No offence, but I think some of our officials may envy your Security Chief. He seems to have surrounded himself with attractive women on his staff."  
  
Mark smiled. "They're all here on merit, not looks. The Lieutenant Colonel and the Major have both seen combat."  
  
"They've fought the Spectrans?" Pago said.  
  
"As has G-3. Don't underestimate her just because she's pretty."  
  
  
  
  
Jason eyed the contents of the glass being offered him by a Gaian junior officer. The liquid was an attractive pale pink, not unlike guava juice, but guava juice never gave off the kinds of fumes that made Jason check that there weren't any naked flames nearby. "Fruit juice, huh?"  
  
"Oh, yes," the Sub-captain insisted earnestly, pushing the glass toward Jason. "One of our local delicacies." Jason observed the smiles on the faces of the Sub-captain's colleagues.  
  
"I'll stick to water, thanks," Jason said. "Without any 'fruit juice' or other distillates in it," he added, skewering the officer with a look.  
  
"Right," the Sub-captain said, suddenly uncomfortable.  
  
Jason folded his arms. People, it seemed, were people, no matter what planet you were on.  
  
The Gaians moved politely aside for a tall woman in dress whites. " _Aqua pura_?" Shay Alban said, handing over a drink.  
  
"Just what I need," Jason said, accepting the glass of water. The Gaians shuffled and smiled nervously. "I was handling it, y'know," Jason said.  
  
"Of course you were, sir. All part of the service," Alban said, and moved away again.  
  
  
  
  
It was close to the Gaian equivalent of midnight when the Federation contingent judged that they could take their leave without causing offence. Jason followed Mark outside and waited while the Vice President, her husband and her guards were ushered into their limousine. Anderson, the embassy staff and his detail climbed into the second vehicle.  
  
G-Force moved forward as the third car pulled up for them. Princess and Keyop got into the front, leaving Mark, Jason and Tiny to squeeze into the back seat. As Jason climbed into the vehicle he heard the sound of music being turned up in the building behind them. It seemed the Gaians had been waiting for the annoying offworlders to leave before letting their hair down.  
  
"Well, that was boring," Jason decided. He wanted to stretch but there was insufficient room. He was sandwiched between Mark and Tiny.  
  
"The Gaians seemed very polite," Princess said.  
  
"I got invited to tour an air base," Mark said.  
  
"Me, too," Tiny added.  
  
"Pilots!" Jason snorted. "All I got was a drink spiking attempt."  
  
"You did?" Keyop was outraged. "All I got was chocolate milk!"  
  
"That's because Lieutenant Thorne was riding shotgun on you all night," Jason explained.  
  
"He was?" Keyop blinked.  
  
"Didn't you notice?" Mark asked. "Anderson had a security officer shadowing every one of us."  
  
"I thought they were just mingling," Princess confessed. "I mean, I see them around all the time..."  
  
"So we don't take any notice of them," Mark concluded. "That’s why they call it ‘uniformed invisibility.’ Terry Falcone had my six all evening."  
  
"That’s right," Jason said. "Shay was watching my back, Ray Bairstow had Princess, Josh had Tiny and Al was with the Chief. None of them let us out of their sight for a second."  
  
"That’s the Chief for you." Keyop said. "Paranoia, anyone?"  
  
The car pulled into the Embassy driveway and the automatic gates swung shut behind them. The Vice President's limousine had driven on to the guest house and the second car was disgorging its passengers at the main building.  
  
Jason waited for Mark to unfasten his seatbelt and get out. He resisted the temptation to shove and exited the vehicle slowly once Mark was clear. He stretched and flexed his muscles, feeling as though he'd just been removed from an envelope and unfolded.  
  
"I'm going to turn in," Princess said. "Come on, Keyop. It's past your bedtime."  
  
Keyop opened his mouth but it was to yawn rather than argue, and he allowed himself to be led inside without protest.  
  
"Seems like a good idea to me," Tiny said, and followed.  
  
"Me too," Mark said.  
  
"I'll be in later," Jason said. "I want to take a walk and clear my head."  
  
The bright sunny day had turned into a clear, cold night. Jason pulled his cape wings in close around himself and headed out to explore the gardens. After the stuffy atmosphere of the reception, he welcomed the bite of the cold air in his lungs and breathed deeply. His eyes adjusted to the dark and he struck out confidently. The Embassy was a cluster of buildings separated by lawns and ornamental flower beds of some variety of local flora. Jason prowled along the boundary wall, his enhanced hearing picking up the high pitched hum of the defensive laser array. Some of the hedges had a pleasant, spicy smell about them and there were nocturnal insects somewhere, making sounds not unlike those of crickets. In front of the entrance to the main building, the main forecourt was paved with a circular driveway and a large ornate fountain formed a centrepiece. The fountain had been switched on during the day, but now lay silent and still. There were voices, and Jason listened to orders being given and acknowledged. The security staff were still on the job, he realised. Come to think of it, they wouldn’t ever be _off_ the job. He continued past the guest house, returned the polite greeting of a member of Julia D'Castro's detail, and followed the wall around past the outbuildings that housed the service and infrastructure plant for the compound. The _Phoenix_ stood silent and dark against the sky, her guards nearly invisible in the shadows. Lieutenants Alvarez and Richards nodded to Jason as he passed them.  
  
As he walked, Jason could feel the tension of the evening draining away. He hated having to make public appearances. Anderson had admitted that there was little in the way of serious security work to be done, and had exhorted the team to practice patience, forbearance and tolerance. Jason took stock and decided he really needed a recharge for all three. The quiet dark of the night was helping.  
  
The Embassy compound comprised an area of just over two acres, so it wasn’t long before Jason found himself back at the main building.  
  
A slender shape was moving: Fran Patrick, in her day uniform and muffled in a long blue overcoat was crossing the lawn.  
  
"Hey," Jason called softly.  
  
"Hey, yourself," she replied. "Sorry I can't stop. I pulled perimeter patrol."  
  
"I just finished checking the perimeter," Jason said. "Why don't you stay and talk for a minute?"  
  
"I'm not supposed to," Fran said.  
  
"Like I said," Jason told her, "I just completed a perimeter sweep. You don't need to make another one."  
  
"I guess a minute or two won't hurt," Fran said.  
  
"When do you get off duty, anyway?" Jason asked.  
  
"Oh-seven-hundred," Fran said. "Mother Superior’s got the paranoia dialled up to eleven."  
  
"I noticed," Jason said, smiling.  
  
"Shay said the reception was boring," Fran said.  
  
"G-Force is only here as window dressing," Jason complained. "While we're being paraded around to impress the locals, Zoltar could be attacking Earth."  
  
"The Chief seems to think there's more chance of Zoltar attacking here."  
  
"If I had a dollar for every thought the Chief ever had, I'd be rich," Jason said.  
  
Fran chuckled and let her gaze sweep upward. "What a sky!" she breathed. Jason looked up. The sky seemed to be filled with jewels, a glistering, glimmering, luminescent band that stretched from horizon to horizon to the north of them as though the planet herself were wearing a royal diadem. "It's called The Goddess' Kirtle," Fran said. "It's gorgeous, but what in heck's a 'kirtle'?"  
  
"Women used to tie them around the waists of their dresses in the Middle Ages," Jason said. "I looked it up," he explained.  
  
"Amazing," Fran breathed, "that spaceborne rock and ice could look like this."  
  
"Lieutenant!" Lieutenant Colonel Jones' voice sliced through Jason's reverie. "I believe you're on watch," Jones said, striding toward them across the lawn, still resplendent in whites.  
  
Fran snapped to attention. "Yes, ma'am!"  
  
"Then perhaps you'd like to explain why you're standing here with this young man – who isn't on duty, if you'll pardon me, sir – engaging in amateur astronomy instead of completing the perimeter sweep you were directed to carry out?"  
  
"Hey," Jason said, holding up a hand, "it's not her fault, I was the one -"  
  
"With respect, sir," Jones said stiffly, "the Lieutenant is an officer and well able to make her own decisions. Had you detained her here against her will, then both she and I might have grounds for lodging a complaint. As it would appear that you haven't deprived her of her liberty however, I request that you allow me to manage my staff as I see fit."  
  
Jason took note of the plea in Fran's eyes and exhaled, clenching his teeth. "It _was_ my fault, Colonel," he said. "I'm the ranking officer and I asked Lieutenant Patrick to stop and talk with me."  
  
"Very well, sir. I need not remind you of the increased level of security we're operating under at the moment. Lieutenant Patrick, please be about your duties."  
  
"Yes, ma'am." Fran hurried away, and Jason folded his arms, turning a baleful violet gaze on the senior security officer. Seen through his visor, her hair and the white uniform were an odd shade of mauve.  
  
"Sir," Jones said, "Lieutenant Patrick has a promising career ahead of her. If she wants to see you out of hours, that's her decision, but you aren't doing her any favours by distracting her from her duties, particularly during an off-world assignment." Jones stood and stared at Jason until he remembered that despite his nominal rank of Major, he was a member of G-Force, and as such, protocol dictated that Jones couldn't leave until he gave her permission to do so, and Jones wouldn't break protocol unless it was a matter of life and death.  
  
"Understood, Colonel," he said. "Is there anything else?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Thank you." Jason returned Jones' salute, then watched, scowling, as the security officer turned and walked away, leaving Jason to contemplate the glittering expanse of the Goddess' Kirtle by himself. No doubt he'd be hearing about this from Anderson in the morning.  
  
  
  
  
Anderson glanced up from the coffee can he was holding as the kitchen door opened. He’d shucked the hat and the double-breasted coat and had finally loosened the collar of his tunic.  
  
"Aren't you off duty, yet?" he asked.  
  
"More or less, sir," Jones said. She put her hat down on the kitchen table next to Anderson's and undid the top two buttons on her tunic, then appeared to notice that Anderson was in the process of opening a can of coffee. "Planning on putting in another all-nighter?"  
  
"I couldn't sleep," he said, shrugging. Jones arched an eyebrow at him and made a point of looking at the coffee can and back again. Anderson put the coffee down. "Oh, all right," he conceded.  
  
"Camomile tea, sir?" Jones suggested.  
  
"That could work."  
  
"Sit down," she told him. She filled the kettle, set it to boil and located the teapot. She shot him a quick look over one shoulder, then apparently thought better of what she'd been going to say, and warmed the teapot under the hot water tap instead.  
  
"Spit it out," Anderson prompted. "I know you're itching to say whatever it is that's on your mind."  
  
"Am I that transparent?" Jones evaded, getting two cups out of the cupboard.  
  
"I know that look," Anderson told her.  
  
"I was wondering how you managed to survive this long, living on coffee and working hours that would kill most people."  
  
"Hadn't you heard?" Anderson jibed. "Only the good die young."  
  
"You almost did," Jones reminded him. She rummaged in a drawer for the tea strainer.  
  
"Almost doesn't count," Anderson said. Jones didn't reply, but cast one of her extensive collection of withering looks over one shoulder at her protection assignment. "Come on, Al," Anderson chided, "you know we'd both be bored if I behaved myself all the time." Jones said nothing but made a pretence of looking for something in the cutlery drawer. "Anyway," Anderson said, "I thought I ordered you to lighten up a while back?"  
  
"This is it, I'm afraid."  
  
"I think you could do better."  
  
"If you say so, sir."  
  
"Ally -"  
  
Jones retrieved a teaspoon from the drawer. "Why do you call me that? It makes me sound like... like a _blonde_."  
  
Anderson shook his head. "Checked the mirror, lately?"  
  
Jones shrugged. "You know what I mean."  
  
“I know you don’t like being called ‘Bertie,’” Anderson teased.  
  
“I used to beat up my brother for calling me Bertie,” Jones warned.  
  
The kettle had boiled and Jones made a pot of tea, allowing it to draw for a few minutes before she poured the infusion into two mugs. She sat down at the kitchen table opposite her protection assignment and handed him one of the cups.  
  
"Thanks," Anderson said and cradled his steaming mug in both hands. He sipped cautiously at the tea. "Not bad. Better than when you make _Café La Brea Tar Pit_ , anyway."  
  
"That's not much of a compliment," Jones retorted.  
  
"See? You're lightening up already." Anderson took another sip of tea. "It's an improvement on Gaian booze, too, but that's not much of a compliment, either. I wonder if I have any stomach lining left?"  
  
"I stuck to water," Jones said. "It's one of the advantages of being further down the food chain."  
  
"They're cagey little beggars," Anderson said. "Canny, and if I don't miss my guess, devious, too." One side of Anderson's mouth twisted upward in a wry half-smile. "What is it about your tea that gets me talking?" he wondered.  
  
"Couldn't say, sir," Jones said. "Perhaps it's just a profound sense of relief that I haven't made coffee?"  
  
Anderson smiled and took a sip from his cup. "That could be it." He regarded her for a moment. "So tell me, what do you think of our hosts?"  
  
"There’s a lot of emphasis on structure, ritual, protocol and the perception of honour," Jones recounted. "From what I can tell, keeping up appearances is frightfully important to them. There are strong elements within their social structure that put me in mind of Victorian England."  
  
Anderson struggled to catch up. "Such as?"  
  
"There's an unspoken sense of superiority and an immense sense of pride in who they are. They spent the entire evening looking down their noses at us while they were looking up at us. Thankfully, they're not nearly as strait-laced as the Victorians and they don't seem to want to go out and conquer the Galaxy the way the British tried to build the old Empire on Earth, but you'll note that the culture we see here has become the dominant one throughout the Commonwealth."  
  
"The benign conquerors civilising the savages?" Anderson inferred.  
  
"Just so. And then there's us."  
  
"More savages?"  
  
"Not at all. They regard sapient indigenes within the Commonwealth as though they were poor relations who need help to join polite society. We're much more dangerous than that. They think we're crass, arrogant, uncivilised and ill-bred, but there's a dollop of grudging respect and a healthy dose of fear."  
  
"Fear, huh? I can work with fear," Anderson said.  
  
"Speaking of fear, did you know they're providing constant protective services for all the shield engineers and their families?"  
  
Anderson frowned. "That wasn't in any of our intel reports."  
  
"Probably because the security officers weren't complaining about being overworked in your intel reports. The trials and tribulations of security staff are universal, sir, and Lieutenant Bairstow's a very sympathetic listener."  
  
"Interesting," Anderson said. "The biggest stumbling block we face on this mission is going to be the collective pride of the Gaian Commonwealth. The last thing they want to do is to admit to any failings, especially to a bunch of crass, egalitarian upstarts like us."  
  
"If I didn't know better," Jones said, a slow smile stealing its way across her face, "I might think you were enjoying yourself."  
  
"Good thing you know better, then, isn't it, Al?" Anderson said slyly.  
  
"Quite so, sir."  
  
They drank their tea in silent thought for a moment.  
  
"Backhanded compliments aside, this stuff isn't all that bad," Anderson remarked after a while.  
  
"That's the general idea," Jones said. "You really should try and get some sleep," she told him. "You've got an audience with the Regent in the morning."  
  
"The Regent?" Anderson frowned. He took his palm unit from his pocket and consulted it. "There's nothing in my schedule about an audience with the Regent."  
  
"Ah," Jones said sagely. "So you're to be Sent For, then. A Royal Prerogative."  
  
"Gaians," Anderson sighed, then he frowned again. "How did you know about this?"  
  
"It's amazing what security staff pick up on when we're busy being socially invisible, sir."  
  
"The Gaians want to catch us unprepared," Anderson surmised. "I'd better warn Julia."  
  
"Major Alban said she got the impression that Mrs D'Castro wasn't invited, actually. It's just you."  
  
Anderson's suspicious mind swung into top gear. "What could they hope to gain?" he wondered aloud.  
  
Jones finished her tea. "Indeed, sir," she said. "Sleep on it."  
  
"You're a tyrant, Al, you know that?"  
  
"I do believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, sir." She held out a hand for his empty cup, which he surrendered without argument.  
  
"Good night," he said. "Thanks for the tea."  
  
"Don't forget your hat, sir." Jones turned her attention to rinsing the cups and putting them in the dishwasher. Anderson had trouble shaking the notion that he'd been sent to his room, but could find no rational argument for not going, and besides, he was tired, even if he refused to admit it to anyone other than himself. He picked up the detestable hat and tucked it under his left arm.  
  
Anderson paused at the door as Jason stalked inside, letting in a waft of cold air. "I'm just turning in," he said. "We'll debrief in the morning."  
  
Jason shrugged. "Night."  
  
When Anderson was gone, Jason leaned against the table and stared at Jones for long enough to make the hair on the back of her neck prickle.  
  
"The kettle's still hot if you want tea, sir," Jones said, with insistent courtesy, closing the door of the dishwasher.  
  
"I'm not thirsty," Jason said.  
  
"Anything I can help you with, sir?"  
  
"No. Good night, Colonel."  
  
"Good night, sir." Jones left Jason alone in the kitchen with his thoughts and the hum of the dishwasher starting its cycle.  
  
When the door had swung shut and the sharp tap of Jones' heels on the polished timber floor had faded, Jason reconsidered the idea of a hot drink and made himself a cup of hot chocolate. He sat at the table and took his time drinking it, waiting for his irritation to wind itself out and dissipate. The kitchen was largely unadorned, a relief to the senses after this evening's visual overload. The table was plain timber, well-worn with ordinary, slightly battered chairs, and the counters and cupboards were functional. The ceiling was covered in complicated plaster decoration, but if there had been any gilding, it had long ago been covered over with practical white paint.  
  
Jason stretched, then smothered a yawn in both hands. He really should go up to bed. All he had to do was find enough energy to stand. He leaned on the table and let his head fall – sideways, to avoid getting the pointed tip of his visor stuck in the wood – onto his arms. He'd rest his eyes for a couple of seconds, then he'd go upstairs...  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  1. _Semper vigilis_ – “Ever vigilant,” the official Galaxy Security motto.
  2. _Si vos es vultus pro tribulatione inveneris –_ _“_ If you are looking for trouble, you have found it,” the _unofficial_ Galaxy Security motto.
  3. Actually, it was a grotesque; a gargoyle is decorative Gothic roof plumbing and is a kind of waterspout. Not the sort of functionality you want on the outside of the toilet pedestal.
  4. It was King Vortigern whose tower kept falling down, but Jason’s just being deliberately silly in an effort to maintain his bad-boy image. As you know, Bob, Voldemort was the Big Bad in the _Harry Potter_
  5. An entire chapter in William Faulkner’s classic American novel _As I Lay Dying_ consists of the sentence, _My mother is a fish._ No wonder Mark was put off reading fiction that didn’t involve aviation. (He did enjoy Richard Bach’s _Jonathon Livingston Seagull_ , but that was still about flying so it doesn’t really count.)




	5. So Rested He by the Tum-Tum Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chief Anderson is Sent For. Commander Veshkanian gives us his views on interstellar politics. Jason resents being paraded around like a prize poodle.

The Crown of Thorns command vessel hung motionless in interstellar space. From a distance, it seemed to be made up of black spikes bristling out of a flattish, five-armed star. Up close, however, it became apparent that each spike was in fact a sleek attack ship.  
  
Commander Veshkanian had arranged himself in front of his command chair, his cloak partly unfastened in order that it might be thrown dramatically back from one shoulder, its folds draping down to puddle on the floor at his feet. His attention was focussed on the main view screen, which portrayed the image of his Supreme Leader.  
  
" _You have done well so far, Commander_ ," Zoltar said. " _When will you be able to launch your attack on the Gaian home world?_ "  
  
"Soon, sire," Veshkanian said. "The engineer Larian Tche-Ka continues to cooperate. I have no reason to disbelieve him when he says that the home world shields are more complex than those used on the outposts and he continues to develop a solution for us. I suspect he is working at less than his maximum speed out of a combination of guilt and fear, but if we push him much farther, he will break down and may make a fatal error. I believe we are best advised to allow him some time."  
  
_"I have waited a long time to take Gaia_ ," Zoltar said, the corners of his mouth turning downward. " _I can wait a little longer, but be aware, Commander, that my patience is not infinite. Maintain the pressure on your little traitor, but do not trust him. Others have made the mistake of trusting traitors and have paid the ultimate price. You, I hope, are not so foolish_."  
  
"You are kind, sire," Veshkanian said, bowing. "I will repay your confidence in me by presenting you with victory over the Gaian Commonwealth within the week!"  
  
" _Be careful, Veshkanian_ ," Zoltar cautioned. " _Overconfidence is not something I wish to encourage among my Commanders. You are a clever man. Do not give me cause to think that you are_ too _clever_."  
  
"As you will, sire. My loyalty and obedience belong to Spectra, the Great Spirit, and your estimable self, always." Veshkanian bowed again, a courtier's bow with an elegant sweep of one arm. When he looked up again, the screen had returned to its view of the star field. Veshkanian straightened and sighed. "How say you, Derel?"  
  
The navigator and First Officer considered. "Our leader stands in need of our courage, daring and initiative in order to secure the victory, Commander. We must not disappoint him."  
  
"I concur," Veshkanian said. "I will go and speak with the Gaian Engineer."  
  
Veshkanian adjusted his cloak (it wouldn't do to trip) and strode off the bridge. He disliked having to deal with the Gaian. Tche-Ka fell somewhere between prisoner and guest: he had initially been bribed into doing Spectra's work, then when the magnitude of what he was doing became clear to him and he balked, he had been blackmailed, then coerced. A truly brave and noble soul would have died rather than betray his world, Veshkanian mused loftily.   
  
It didn't occur to Veshkanian to wonder what he might have done had he found himself in Tche-Ka's place.  
  
Veshkanian made his way down the companionways of the ship to where Tche-Ka was being held. The Gaian's quarters were as well-appointed as Veshkanian's own and the guards were under strict instructions to treat the diminutive engineer with the utmost courtesy.  
  
Outside the room, two guards stood at ease. They were an oddly mismatched pair: one of them swarthy and stout with a pronounced paunch under his uniform, the other tall and bony with the traditional moustache and beard of a tribesman from the Great Desert of Eruk. The Erukian guard also had the sallow, faded complexion of one who has spent too much time away from the Great Desert.  
  
Veshkanian tried not to stare at the tribesman's traditional facial hair. It resembled nothing so much as three thin bunches of long paintbrush bristles pulled out and shoved under each nostril and in the end of the chin. The owner of the cultural moustache and beard kept them waxed and neatly trimmed, as befitted a proud Erukian, and at Veshkanian's approach, he snapped to attention and saluted.  
  
"Hail, Spectra!" the Erukian declared at full volume. Veshkanian remembered now, why these two  [9] had been assigned to guard the engineer: everything else they touched turned to complete and utter ignots [10]. They seemed to be handling the guard duty well enough, however.  
  
"Hail, Spectra!" the short, paunchy guard echoed, saluting belatedly.  
  
"I would speak with Engineer Tche-Ka," Veshkanian said.  
  
"Sir!" the Erukian barked, saluting again and almost smacking himself in the head in his enthusiasm.  
  
"Very good, private," Veshkanian sighed. "Just open the door."  
  
"Sir, I must announce you properly!" the Erukian declared. He turned on his heel, rapped sharply on the door then flung it open and bellowed, "Commander Veshkanian to see you, Engineer Tche-Ka!"  
  
"Thank you, private," Veshkanian said, and stalked into the room. He waited for the door to be wrestled shut behind him. "Greetings, Tche-Ka," Veshkanian said.  
  
The lone occupant of the room was standing next to his chair. At four feet six inches in height, Tche-Ka was far from an imposing figure and his hangdog slouch didn't help. The engineer was dressed in a hastily altered Spectran uniform, with the trousers and sleeves taken up. The tunic hung off the Gaian's shoulders and had been hemmed so that it ended around his hips. The trousers had been elasticised at the waist and the gusset hung in swathes half way to his knees. The uniform's half mask lay unregarded on the desk.  
  
"Commander Veshkanian," Tche-Ka replied. "I am making progress. I have almost finished writing the randomiser solution for the final level of access codes."  
  
"You are doing very well, Tche-Ka," Veshkanian said, modulating his voice to keep it as soothing as possible. At the little alien's stricken expression, Veshkanian made an expansive gesture with one hand. "My dear fellow, rejoice! We Spectrans are intervening for the greater good as far as the Commonwealth is concerned. Once any short-sighted resistance on the part of the Gaian military is neutralised, we will be liberating your people from the shackles of their enforced galactic isolation! As a client world of Spectra, you will benefit from our economic and socio-political largesse and be so much the better for it. I will keep my promise to extend my personal protection to your family. You must not doubt me in this. I would be deeply wounded to find that you did not consider me a man of the utmost honour."  
  
"Of course you are honourable, Commander," Tche-Ka said, his voice shaking. "I simply worry about my family during the conflict, while you... subdue resistance. They don't understand, you know. My wife..." he shook his head.  
  
"It is to be expected," Veshkanian said. "So many of your people have been raised within the narrow-minded confines of an insular society. So few are as enlightened as yourself."  
  
Tche-Ka's hunted gaze followed Veshkanian as he paced the length of the cabin and back again, dark cloak billowing. "I confess to you, Commander, there are times when I doubt. I thank you for your reassurance."  
  
Veshkanian listened for a ring of sincerity in Tche-Ka's voice but heard only resignation. "I am your ally, Tche-Ka," he said. "Were you to return to the bosom of your people, they would reject you out of ignorance and anger. They do not see the benefits they will gain. In time, however, Gaia will accept Spectra's guidance and sponsorship as she makes her journey toward membership of the larger galactic community. You must trust me. You are, without meaning any offence, largely ignorant when it comes to interplanetary politics. One day, your children and grandchildren will speak your name with great pride, and your compatriots will honour you."  
  
"I pray that you are right, Commander," Tche-Ka said dutifully.  
  
"Of course I am right," Veshkanian said. "And now I leave you to your work. The great Zoltar is mightily pleased with you. Our... _intervention_ must commence as soon as possible to avoid any possibility of Federation interference. Do not disappoint Lord Zoltar. Lord Zoltar does not like being disappointed."  
  
  
  
  
Anderson's palm unit was set to sound at five. The Security Chief didn't consider himself a morning person and didn't like having to deal with people until he'd had at least one cup of coffee. He was glad of the cessation of sleep today, however. He'd been dreaming about the past again. He couldn't remember the details of the dream, which seemed to concern his childhood-self running and searching for his missing family. More coherent memories came flooding back now that he was awake:  
  
_"It's a wild goose chase, Jay," he'd said all those years ago. "You've got something on Hibernia with Erin. Make a life for yourself. You can't bring them back." The Anderson brothers had been attending a section meeting and took the opportunity to talk over coffee afterward in the staff cafeteria before James had to head back to ISO Powell to catch a starship back to Hibernia. They occupied a small table in a cramped corner, away from their colleagues. Both young men were whipcord lean and wiry, but James was broader in the shoulders and his rugged good looks tended to draw attention from women and men alike. The brothers kept their voices low as they argued.  
  
"It's not about bringing them back, Davey," James had said. "It's about finding the truth."  
  
"The truth is that they're dead. Spectra killed them. We already know that. We took down the assassin who killed them. What more is there to prove?"  
  
"Charon was just a tool. Someone was pulling his strings and I need to know who it was. I thought the nightmares would stop after we got that son of a bitch but they didn't. I see it at night, Davey. The car, the fireball... I can still hear both of us screaming. You still have the scars and so do I, only some of them go deeper than others. I can't let it go."  
  
"Jay, we were pushing our luck when we went after Charon and I told you before: from here on in we do it by the rules. I won’t have another unauthorised killing on my conscience. You got away with Charon but even Conway’s patience isn’t infinite. You're always so reckless, so impulsive... We've got a better chance of finding them and taking them down if we bide our time and work within the system. Can't you see that?"  
  
"I've waited long enough. Of all people, I thought you'd understand. You were there. You saw them die. You're with Galaxy Security because you want a chance at revenge, same as me!"  
  
"And we'll have it. It wasn't just one assassin, or one handler or even one division that killed our parents, Jay, it was a system. Yes, you can track them down one by one if you want to but each victory's going to be just as hollow as the last, and at what cost? We can take them all if we do it _ right _, but for now we have to wait, and haring off on your own without support isn't going to accomplish anything. Erin loves you! Do you really think Mom and Dad would have wanted you to do this?"  
  
"Don't," James warned. "Don't you dare try that on me. I'm doing this to put Mom and Dad to rest and don't you presume to tell me how to do it!"  
  
"Jay, live your life for now. You have a chance at happiness. Leave the vengeance to me for a while."  
  
"You? You've had, what, half a dozen field assignments and helped me take Charon down. You think that puts you in the same league as me now? Forget it, Davey. Maybe you're content to wait until hell freezes over to finish this, but I'm not!" James had stalked away in disgust, leaving his coffee unfinished on the table._  
  
David Anderson pushed the memories away. It had been the last time the two of them had been in the same room together.  
  
It was time to get up. It was going to be a busy day.  
  
  
  
  
"Jason?"  
  
"Hmnfthss?" Jason's tongue seemed reluctant to disengage itself from the roof of his mouth.  
  
"What are you doing down here?" Princess asked.  
  
Jason blinked at her. His eyelids had gained weight. He gave himself a moment to sort out various facial muscles. "Must've fallen asleep," he mumbled. "What time is it?"  
  
"Nearly five thirty."  
  
"Huh! Might as well get up," Jason griped.  
  
"Why don't you get a couple hours' sleep in your bed?" Princess suggested. "The Chief won't want to see us until eight."  
  
"Nah." Jason unfolded himself and stretched upward, extending his limbs until he fancied he could hear his joints popping. "I'll only be sleepier than ever if I do that. Anderson'll probably want to see me early, anyway, to drag me over the coals."  
  
"What'd you do this time?" Princess sighed.  
  
"I was talking to Fran while she was on duty. _It's not the done thing, you know_ ," he said imitating Jones' accent to a tee.  
  
"You do that quite well," Jones said, pushing the door open. The security officer was in her midnight blue day uniform, all crisp knife-edged creases. "Good morning, sirs."  
  
Princess had the grace to look abashed. "Morning, Al," she ventured.  
  
Jones filled the kettle and set it to boil. "The kitchen staff start at six, if you want breakfast," she said.  
  
"I forgot about that," Princess said. "I was all set to make pancakes." She opened the refrigerator and found the orange juice. "Want some OJ, Jase?"  
  
"I think I'll make coffee," Jason decided.  
  
Princess shook her head, poured two glasses of orange juice and put one down in front of Jason. "Drink it," she told him. "It's better for you than coffee."  
  
"I gave up vitamins for Lent," Jason pleaded, but he took the glass and sipped at the fruit juice.  
  
  
  
  
The Dowager Queen Regent was tall for a Gaian woman and willowy with it. She bore her seventy-odd years well, her face lined but not sagging, her once-dark hair now silver and covered with a black veil. She wore a black velvet gown adorned with diamonds, and awaited her visitor sitting straight and proud on a _chaise longue_ with some kind of small long haired lap animal for company.  
  
"Your Majesty." Anderson inclined his head respectfully and waited for the Regent to speak. As expected, he had indeed been Sent For. A Herald had arrived at the Embassy at seven with the news that it pleased their Royal Majesties to have Dr David Anderson of Earth attend them immediately. Far from being caught flat-footed, Anderson had been ready and waiting. At least Jones had said that he was allowed to wear his best suit instead of that damned uniform. All the same, she’d subjected him to another inspection before she let him out of the Embassy. It turned out he’d forgotten his tie pin and cufflinks; a terrible _faux pas_ which Jones had corrected at the last minute.  
  
"Doctor Anderson," the Regent said. Her voice had the dry quality of autumn leaves. "Thank you for indulging an old woman's curiosity."  
  
"Curiosity, ma'am?"  
  
"I met your mother when she visited here, all those years ago. She was younger than I, but we got along well. I liked her, and I had hoped that we would become good friends, but we never had the opportunity. My late son was the same age as you. We exchanged photographs and talked about our children. I was delighted when she was appointed Ambassador and looked forward to meeting her family. I was terribly saddened at the news of her death. Now you are here, I wanted to see you."  
  
Anderson felt that he was on uncertain ground. "I'm flattered that you remember my family, ma’am."  
  
"Your family were a part of a critical turning point in modern Gaian history, Doctor Anderson. It is not flattery. I have a sense of the Great Wheel turning. Perhaps it is because I am old, but I feel that events are once again sweeping us up and carrying us along. The Goddess spins her threads and weaves them to her own designs. We must struggle to keep up lest the yarn entangle us." The Regent gazed into a middle distance of her own for a moment. "I would speak privately with you. Please dismiss your guards, and I will dismiss mine."  
  
Jones cast an enquiring glance at Anderson, who nodded to her. The three Terran officers bowed to the Regent and marched from the room. At a signal from the dowager, the Gaians also bowed and filed out.  
  
The Regent reached across to an ornate side table and opened a jewelled music box, which began to play a simple folk tune.  
  
Anderson waited for the Regent to confirm his suspicions.  
  
"A jamming device," she explained. "I do not wish to be monitored, even by my own intelligence services."  
  
"Of course, ma’am," Anderson said with more confidence than he felt.  
  
"History, my boy, is upon us once more, and this time I will not be thwarted."  
  
"Your majesty?" Anderson frowned. "You suspect Spectra may have infiltrated here?"  
  
"Not Spectra," the dowager sighed. "Sit down, please. I have information for you which you may find distressing." Anderson obeyed, taking a seat on a small high-backed chair. "There is no easy way to tell you this, so I will be blunt: the deaths of Elaine and Robert Anderson at the hands of the assassin Charon were not ordered by Spectran agents, but by a rogue element within Gaian intelligence." Anderson remained silent, mentally struggling to absorb the Queen Regent’s confirmation of James Anderson’s suspicions. "There is a faction within our ranks," the Regent continued, "which opposes any and all contact with the galaxy at large. They are convinced that entering into interstellar relationships with anyone can lead only to our ruin. They call themselves Patriots, and in a sense, within their own belief structure, they are. It was this misguided fervour that led them to plot the assassination of your parents then blame it on Spectra in the hope that our government would back away from closer contact with other worlds, and it worked. We retreated into ourselves out of fear that Gaia would become a battleground. Now, it seems that the price of our fear is that Gaia may well become a battleground, regardless."  
  
"Were you privy to this information at the time, ma'am?" Anderson asked, his voice low.  
  
"I was not. I was still a young princess, and as I said, I had befriended your mother and was looking forward to learning more about the rest of the galaxy. I was the last person in whom the Patriots would have confided. In a way, I am partly to blame for your parents' deaths: I was a popular figure, and had I not been so enthused, had I not been so public in my support of opening Gaia to closer ties with the Federation, the Patriots might not have seen your family as a threat. They might have found another, less violent way of influencing the government."  
  
"And why are you telling me this, now, after all these years?"  
  
"Because I believe that the Patriots still oppose an alliance with you. Your Vice President is here. She is a target, as are you. I have your parents' deaths on my conscience, and possibly your brother's also. I do not wish to add you to their number."  
  
Anderson's eyes narrowed. "What do you know about my brother, ma’am?"  
  
"I know that he was here as an assistant to your _Chargé d'Affairs_ , and that he was killed in a fire. They said he was a spy, and he may well have been. You would know that better than I. My own belief is that the Patriots perceived him as a threat and murdered him. Perhaps he had uncovered the truth about your parents' deaths. Perhaps we will never know." The Regent sighed and gazed into the middle distance, absently scratching the small dog-like animal next to her behind the ears, the diamonds in her many rings glittering in the light. The little animal wriggled and looked up adoringly at its mistress.  
  
"Your majesty," Anderson said, "thank you for telling me this. It may be too much to ask, but do you have evidence to support what you know?"  
  
The Regent inclined her head in a slight nod. "Even now, it is being provided to you by a roundabout route." She put both hands in her lap, which prompted her pet to butt at her with its head, begging for attention. "Be careful, Doctor Anderson. It pains me to say it, but there are those among my people who cannot be trusted."  
  
"Is the Minister for Defence among them?" Anderson asked.  
  
"Irin? I do not think so. Irin is not an idealist. She is a politician. Like the grass in the meadow, she bends with the weather. Perhaps this in itself is grounds for you not to trust her, but she will obey me for as long as I live. Do not look so alarmed, young man. The Patriots are murderers, but they have yet to peep at regicide. For now, at least, I am safe from their coils."  
  
"And the King?"  
  
"My grandson is a forward-thinking young man. I have taught him well. It is merely that I grow old. No-one lives forever, and who would wish to? I wish merely to live long enough to see him invested. After that, my work will be finished and I will be free to pass into the arms of our Great Mother Goddess with my heart at peace. I see no reason, however, to burden him with the sins of the past, so he thinks I am merely indulging myself in looking upon the son of an old friend. This being the case, you must go now, and if you are asked about our meeting, say only that I reminisced, as old women do, about your mother, and that I spoke fondly of what might have been."  
  
"As you wish, your majesty."  
  
"Go, then," she told him, "and do what you must." Anderson stood, bowed and walked away. As he reached the door, the Regent spoke again: "And since your reputation precedes you, sir, do try to leave at least some of my city standing when you are finished," she said.  
  
  
  
  
When Anderson emerged from the audience room, his security detail clustered around him. They walked to the Embassy vehicle in silence, the detail out of protocol, the Security Chief because his thoughts were elsewhere. The silence held until they had all boarded and the limousine was on its way back to the Embassy.  
  
"Sir." Something in Jones' voice prompted Anderson to glance up at his security coordinator, who was sitting opposite him.  
  
"What is it, Al?"  
  
"This." She took a small booklet from her pocket.  
  
" _Significant Statuary and Monuments of Gaia_ ," Anderson translated. "It's a tourist guide of some kind."  
  
"With a microdot embedded in the cover, sir, according to the scanner in my palm unit. A guard I was talking to last night at the reception turned up and gave it to me while you were in with the Regent."  
  
"It was an interesting meeting,” Anderson said. “Queen Miriane is concerned that there may be a risk of terrorist activity aimed at our delegation. The Vice President is a high profile target and we may have to escalate our security measures. Al, as senior officer, I want you to take charge and liaise with our Embassy staff to make sure everything's as watertight as we can make it.”  
  
"Yes, sir," Jones said. Anderson was aware of her scrutiny and quashed a spur of annoyance. He'd been too strung out to eat breakfast and he was feeling jittery and irritable. He wondered how much of the strain was evident. Jones tended to pick up on his most subtle tells – even those he wasn’t aware of himself – with disconcerting accuracy. Anderson made a conscious effort to relax.  
  
Jones had tells of her own, however. Anderson spotted the quick sidelong glance that told him she was gauging his mood as she flipped open her palm unit and called the embassy to arrange a meeting with the head of Embassy Security and the Vice President’s security coordinator.  
  
  
  
  
“So he just took off?” Jason concluded. The G-Force team were gathered around the kitchen table drinking coffee with Fran Patrick, who was off duty.  
  
“Yeah,” Fran said. “A Herald – an actual _Herald_ like something out of a costume movie – turned up at oh seven hundred and read out a royal command that he go to the palace to see the Queen Regent. Talk about pomp and ceremony and… and royal… whatsisname.”  
  
“Prerogative,” Jason said absently. “What?” he demanded as his team mates stared at him. “I told you, we studied this crap in school! Sue me for remembering it!”  
  
A smile stole across Fran Patrick’s face. “Jason… are you a closet mediaevalist or something?”  
  
Jason drew himself up. “Trust me,” he said, “the only things in my closet are my clothes. My regular, _ordinary_ clothes.”  
  
“That’s a shame,” Fran said. “I love all that stuff – y’know, ren fairs and things.”  
  
“You do?” Jason’s surprise showed on his face.  
  
“Sure,” Fran said. “It was such a romantic period in history, don’t you think?”  
  
“I dunno about romantic,” Jason said. “There were some cool weapons, but then there were plagues, high infant mortality, short life spans, religious persecution, the divine right of kings, feudalism and if I remember correctly, indoor plumbing wasn’t a thing back then either.”  
  
“Then there were the Crusades,” Tiny put in. “Those were just scary.”  
  
“What’s a crusade?” Keyop asked.  
  
“A bunch of wars fought back in olden days,” Tiny said. “Horses wearing tablecloths, knights in armour and that kind of thing. It mixed up politics with religion and ideology, and got real messy. Ugly stuff.”  
  
“Primitive,” Jason said. “Religious leaders of the day told people that if they went off and fought in a holy war called a Crusade and murdered a bunch of other people for worshipping the same God but in a different way, all their sins would automatically be forgiven.”  
  
“And people believed it?”  
  
“It was a simpler time,” Jason said. “People believed just about anything their leaders told ‘em. Critical thinking wasn’t exactly encouraged. You could get burned at the stake for challenging authority.”  
  
“So…” Keyop mulled the idea over. “People went off on some kind of holy war to get… I dunno, holier?”  
  
“Something like that,” Jason said. “Nowadays we use the word to describe any kind of ideologically-driven mission.”  
  
“Huh,” Keyop said. “I wonder if I can get extra credit in school for this.”  
  
“I think you’ll need to show your work,” Mark predicted.  
  
  
  
  
“Well?” Commander Veshkanian prompted. He stood in front of the main view screen on the bridge of the _Crown of Thorns_. The screen showed the planet Xixas below them, the serenity of the swirling atmosphere hiding the chaos on the surface.  
  
“Our technicians are still salvaging what data and hardware they can from the shield facility,” Derel reported. “The self-destruct left little enough for our people to go on. We’re still encountering resistance on the ground but the fighters are providing air cover. The Gaians have sent another squadron of fighters but they were overrun by our superior numbers.”  
  
“Their fighter attacks are fewer and farther between, yes?” Veshkanian asked.  
  
“Yes, Commander,” Derel said. “It would seem that we are wearing them down.”  
  
“How long, do you think, before we have everything we need from this sorry little outpost?”  
  
“Another day, perhaps,” Derel said. “Then the data and other information must be analysed. With each outpost that falls, we garner more information about the Gaian planetary shield systems. This last one should provide enough data that our victory may be assured when we attack their mother world.”  
  
“Very good,” Veshkanian said. “I will report to Lord Zoltar. He will be pleased.”  
  
  
  
  
The black limousine pulled up at the rear of the Federation Embassy and disgorged its passengers: Lieutenant Maxwell was the first out of the front passenger door. He conducted a quick scan of the area then opened the rear door to allow Major Alban, Lieutenant Colonel Jones and Security Chief Anderson to exit the car.  
  
When Security Chief Anderson entered the embassy kitchen, six pairs of eyes turned enquiring looks on him.  
  
“Okay,” he said. “It’s not every day you get a royal summons, but as you can see, nobody had my head cut off, and I’m back in one piece. Is there any coffee?”  
  
Jones crossed the room and headed for the door. “I’ll go and see about that data, sir,” she said as she made good her escape.  
  
Jones took the stairs to Anderson’s office and took _Significant Statuary and Monuments of Gaia_ out of her tunic pocket.  The cover showed an ornate and complicated monument depicting what looked like some sort of romantic-era cavalry charge. There were a lot of banners, cloaks and scrolls in it. Jones laid the book down on the desk and turned her attention to the desktop dock. A panel flipped open at her touch and revealed a small reader port. Jones took her knife from its hidden sheath and carefully prized a tiny crystalline fleck from the cover of the guide book. She transferred the fleck from the tip of the knife to the reader, pushed it into the socket with one fingertip, then put the knife down and activated the secure uplink to Centre Neptune. “Zark?” she said. “It’s Lieutenant Colonel Jones.”  
  
There was a moment’s silence on the line before the soft click and hiss of a channel opening sounded over the speaker. “ _Oh, hello, Colonel!”_ 7-Zark-7 said. _“It’s nice to hear from you. How’s the visit going?”_  
  
“It’s been interesting so far,” Jones said. “Zark, I’ve placed a Gaian data crystal in the reader attached to this terminal. Are you able to analyse it?”  
  
“ _I think so_ ,” Zark said. “ _The format’s certainly unfamiliar… It’s a good thing you were able to find a compatible reader._ ”  
  
“Zark, we’re in the Federation Embassy on the Gaian mother world,” Jones pointed out. “What are the odds?”  
  
The robot giggled, seemingly abashed. “ _Of course! The crystal appears to contain data files. I can’t detect any known virii or malware. No executables at all from the looks of it… The files have been compressed. I’ll just need a moment to extract and analyse…_ ”  
  
"Take all the time you need," Jones said. She listened to the sounds at the other end of the channel; the soft electronic cadences of Nerve Center and the metallic scraping noise of 1-Rover-1 chewing on a wrench.  
  
“ _The files are safe, Colonel. Simple text and images. Would you like to see them?”  
_  
“Don’t display the files. Save a copy to the Centre Neptune server,” Jones said, “to be accessed by Chief Anderson only. Another copy to this terminal for Chief Anderson.”  
  
“ _What about you?_ ” Zark asked.  
  
“If I need to know, he’ll tell me,” Jones said. “Thank you, Zark. How’s everything at Nerve Center?”  
  
“ _Oh, you know_ ,” the robot said. “ _Same old same old – except that I’m spending a lot of my time keeping an eye on all of you up there on Gaia. I promise I’ll sound an alert if anything looks suspicious!_ ”  
  
“That’s good to know,” Jones said. “Were you monitoring when Chief Anderson said he’d been made aware of a potential terrorist threat?”  
  
“ _I was,_ ” Zark said. “ _I’ve notified Deputy Chief Galbraith and Director Kelly_.”  
  
“Good man… I mean, robot. Must rush, now, Zark. I’ve got a meeting. Will you let Chief Anderson know that those files are available for viewing?”  
  
“ _You can count on me, Colonel!_ ”  
  
  
  
  
“What was the point of dragging you over there so early?” Jason asked. “Are they just trying to show the Federation upstarts who’s boss or something?”  
  
“No,” Anderson said. “I think the Queen Regent just wanted to try and get a handle on who she’s dealing with, and I got the distinct impression that if she’d waited until her advisors were around, she wouldn’t have been able to speak freely.”  
  
Mark leaned forward in his chair. “Is she in favour of working with us?”  
  
“I believe so,” Anderson said, “but we have to go through the motions, and in the end, Gaia’s a constitutional monarchy. The Queen can’t just make a proclamation and get her own way.”  
  
“In a way, she has less power than President Kane,” Jason said thoughtfully.  
  
“A lot less,” Anderson agreed.  
  
  
  
  
_"You don't have authorisation for this, Jay," David Anderson had protested. "If you get caught, don't think I’m going to cover for you again. Conway's already asking uncomfortable questions. If the Agency cuts you loose, you'll wind up out in the cold and I won't be able to help you."  
  
"_ Since when have I needed your help? _" James had retorted bitterly. The brothers were speaking via an encrypted tele-comm channel. "_ What are you going to do, whip me up some magic mini robots to find the truth? _"  
  
"They're called nanites, and hardly. You know I'm a good analyst. Send me a copy of your data and we'll compare notes... come up with a plan. Please don't go it alone."  
  
"_ I'm so close, Davey! I can't stop, now! It goes even deeper than we thought. I haven't got any evidence to prove it, yet, but it's big _."  
  
"All the more reason to step back and reassess the situation. A little caution wouldn't go astray right now."  
  
"_ Caution! _" James snorted in contempt. "_ You're always so careful, aren't you, little brother? No. I'm on to something and I'm not going to let the chance slip away _."  
  
"Yes, I'm careful," David said. "I'm careful because apart from Grandma Sorcha, we're all we have left! Like it or lump it, you're the only brother I've got."  
  
James had subsided for a moment. "_ You're right about that, at least _," he conceded. "_ Okay... I've got a chance at some hard evidence. I'm going after it. I've got an informant who may be able to help. As soon as I get the information I'll share it with you and we'll formulate a plan together. Just don't try to stop me _."  
  
"I don't want to stop you. I want payback as badly as you do. I just want both of us to survive it, that's all, and not in some prison cell somewhere!"  
  
"_ Point taken, squirt. I'll call you in a few days and let you know what I've got, okay? _"  
  
"Okay, Jay. Be careful."  
  
James Anderson chuckled. "_ Being careful never got me anywhere. You're the careful one in this family _." He closed the channel, leaving his younger brother staring at a blank screen._  
  
  
  
  
Anderson glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a tap at the door. "Come in," he called. The door eased open and Jones entered with a tray. There was a plunger of coffee, a cup and a plate with a sandwich and some fruit. "Al, since when are you my nursemaid?"  
  
"My job is to keep you alive. How's it going to look on my résumé if you die of starvation? You were too busy to eat dinner last night, and you missed breakfast. Eat this or I'll save us all the trouble and shoot you, myself."  
  
"Is this your idea of persuasion?"  
  
"Would you prefer Shay's approach? She went up on charges for flattening a PA, once. She says she'd do it again. I could go and fetch her if you like. She made the coffee, by the way, so it's fit for human consumption."  
  
"Thanks, Al."  
  
“You’re welcome.” Jones put the tray down on the desk, started to leave, then hesitated.  
  
"What?" Anderson prompted.  
  
"Nothing, sir."  
  
"Out with it, Colonel."  
  
"I was going to ask if you were all right, sir, but then I realised it was a silly question because you'd probably prefer to be dragged over hot coals before you'd ever admit to being anything other than ' _fine_.'"  
  
Anderson shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with Jones' observation. "Laying ghosts to rest is never easy, Al."  
  
“I know. Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Jones said.  
  
  
  
  
By the time Anderson had finished translating, reading and cross-referencing the first dozen or so documents, he was angry. It wasn't something that happened frequently, not in a specific sense. It could be said that he was continually angry, without surcease, at the war and at his enemies in the Crab Nebula and beyond, but that was a slow, simmering, generalised anger that lived on the emotional back burner of his soul.  
  
This, however, was personal.  
  
He leaned back in his chair and glared at the ceiling, feeling cornered. He took a series of deep breaths, trying to calm and centre himself. He needed to think clearly.  
  
A knock at the door drew his focus and he straightened up. “Yes?”  
  
He wasn’t surprised to see Jones opening the door. “You do know that it’s considered occupationally unhealthy to sit in one spot for three hours without moving,” she said.  
  
Anderson stood and stretched, suddenly aware of his physical discomfort. He secured the terminal and unplugged his palm unit. “My back concedes your point,” he said.  
  
“There’s an official meeting with the heads of the Traders’ and the Scientists’ Guilds in about an hour. They’re coming here to meet with Vice President D’Castro and you’re part of the delegation. Then the Veep’s hosting a cocktail party. You can go as you are but you might want to take a walk and get some air before you do,” Jones said.  
  
“You’re right,” Anderson said. “Is it cold out?”  
  
“Mild,” Jones said. “You won’t need your coat.”  
  
The sunlight was warm on Anderson’s back and a gentle breeze kept it from becoming overly so. The lawn was soft underfoot and there were tiny birdlike creatures flitting about in the hedges, hunting whatever passed for insects on Gaia.  
  
“It can’t have been easy, reading those documents,” Jones said.  
  
“You’ve seen them?” Anderson asked, trying to recall the details of the security protocols attached to the files.  
  
“No. I saw your face when I opened the door to the office,” Jones said. “You looked like you needed a break… or possibly someone to punch. Seeing as I was the only other person in the room, I thought I should try suggesting a walk.”  
  
“Why aren’t you in the diplomatic service?” Anderson asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose your temper – and don’t think I haven’t tried.”  
  
“You’ve said it yourself, sir: I’m a terrible liar. Being a hired thug suits me much better. I get to work outside in the fresh air with lots of shiny weapons.”  
  
“I have to admit,” Anderson said, “there are times when I miss that aspect of field work.”  
  
“Never would have guessed,” Jones said.  
  
“I was right,” Anderson said. “You _are_ a terrible liar.” He considered for a moment before adding, “At least, that’s what you want me to believe.”  
  
“Don’t overthink it, sir,” Jones advised. “You’ve got enough to be getting on with.”  
  
“True,” Anderson said. “Jay was right, you know. He was on the trail of the group that ordered the assassination, but what he didn’t know was that they were on to him. I haven’t gone through everything yet but there’s enough correspondence to show that the order came from Gaia. That’s assuming the documents are genuine and I’m not being played.”  
  
“Why would the Queen Regent want you to believe that a Gaian faction killed your parents?” Jones asked.  
  
“Maybe she’d like us to clean house for her. Maybe she wants me to believe that she’s an ally. I don’t have enough to go on yet, and I really should be preparing for that meeting, shouldn’t I? Take my mind off all of this. Tell me about the Guild delegation.”  
  
  
  
  
The window in Mark and Jason’s room hadn’t been opened in quite some time but Jason managed to get the hinges working and pushed the timber-framed panels outward to let in the outside air.  
  
He leaned outward, letting the breeze ruffle his hair, breathing deeply.  
  
“You shouldn’t do that,” Mark cautioned. “What if someone sees you? The Chief said we weren’t to be seen out of uniform.”  
  
“Okay, okay.” Jason withdrew and settled back in the window seat, one elbow on the sill. “Better?”  
  
“I don’t make the rules,” Mark said.  
  
“I know,” Jason said, and subsided, gazing out over the lawn. “Looks like the Chief’s being taken for a walk.”  
  
“Huh?” Mark walked over to the window and glanced out to see Anderson and Jones on the lawn, discussing something as they walked toward the building.  
  
“Do you think they take turns holding the leash?” Jason quipped.  
  
“Some days,” Mark said, “I think you hate everyone over forty.”  
  
“Give me a reason to like anyone over forty,” Jason parried.  
  
“If nobody kills you first, one day you’ll be someone over forty.”  
  
“Then I’ll just be a grumpy old fart,” Jason said. “In the meantime, this works for me.”  
  
A knock sounded at the door. “Mark?” Princess called. “Jason? We’re being paraded in front of a Gaian trade delegation in about thirty minutes.”  
  
“Come on in,” Mark said. “Misery loves company.”  
  
“Why are you miserable?” Princess asked, having opened the door. “Is it…?”  
  
“Not me,” Mark said, pointing his thumb in Jason’s direction. “Mister Future Grumpy Old Fart here.”  
  
“That’s _Major_ Future Grumpy Old Fart to you,” Jason retorted, making a face.  
  
“Well, Major Grumpy etcetera,” Princess said, “the Chief wants to see us in his office in five for a quick briefing. Fran says Colonel Jones has put everyone on double shifts.”  
  
“Does that mean we don’t get paraded around like prize poodles?” Jason asked  
  
“We should be so lucky,” Princess said.  
  
“Ugh!” Jason groaned.  
  
  
  
  
Fortunately, once G-Force had been presented to the Gaians, they only had to remain on parade for about fifteen minutes before being allowed to leave and patrol the Embassy perimeter.  
  
“Like prize poodles,” Jason grumbled as they split into two groups to patrol.  
  
Mark glowered at his second-in-command. “I heard you making dog noises under your breath in there,” he said softly. “It wasn’t funny.”  
  
“Yes it was,” Jason said. “It was freakin’ hilarious.”  
  
“Patrol,” Mark ordered, and stalked away with Princess at his side.  
  
“At least I’m not staying with the _Phoenix_ ,” Tiny said.  
  
“I thought it was funny,” Keyop said helpfully.  
  
“Thanks,” Jason said. “Come on, you two, let’s patrol. At least we’re doing something useful.”  
  
  
  
  
Jason’s gratitude for useful activity had worn thin by the time G-Force had made a dozen circuits of the Embassy compound. Jason had no idea what was on the menu for the cocktail party, but accepted the chicken salad sandwich Fran handed him during his break out in the garden. Jason and Fran sat on a timber and stone bench to eat their meal as the sky darkened.  
  
“So… trouble in paradise for the Gaians, huh?” Jason remarked, having swallowed a bite of his sandwich.  
  
“Yeah,” Fran said. “Domestic terrorism, no less.” She bit into her smoked salmon bagel.  
  
“Is it just me, or is this mission getting more complicated by the hour?” Jason wondered aloud.  
  
“It’s not just you,” Fran said.  
  
Jason wrinkled his nose as the aroma of smoked salmon reached him. “Don’t know how you can eat raw fish,” he said.  
  
“Each to their own,” Fran said.  
  
A thought occurred to Jason. “You’re not going to get in trouble for spending your meal break with me, are you?” he asked.  
  
“Surprisingly, no,” Fran said. “Mother Superior handed me your sandwiches and sent me out here to find you. Of course I’ve got to be back on watch right on time, but apparently as long as I salute properly and do as I’m told when I’m on duty, she’ll let me be. Maybe she feels bad about the double shifts. Stranger things have happened.”  
  
“Really? Who’d have thought it?” Jason had another bite of his sandwich and for a couple of minutes he and Fran addressed themselves to the task of eating. There was a thermos of coffee to wash the sandwiches down with and a sunset to be watched, then it was time to go back to work.  
  
Jason found himself a perch up on the Embassy roof where he could observe the Gaian drivers and security staff who had accompanied the visitors. They stood around drinking some kind of hot beverage out of thermos-style flasks and talking among themselves. Jason saw nothing that he considered suspicious and told Mark as much when the G-Force Commander requested a situation report.  
  
It was getting cold when the first of the cars started up and began ferrying people home. Jason was relieved when the last vehicle left and Mark ordered one final perimeter sweep.  
  
Finally, the team trudged in through the service entrance and made their way to the kitchen in search of a hot drink.  
  
“…Especially in light of the current situation, I need you with your head in the game!” Colonel Jones was saying.  
  
Anderson turned away from his security coordinator to address G-Force. “Good work tonight, team. Hit the hay. We tour the shield installation tomorrow morning and we need to be sharp.” He left the room and Jones followed him out.  
  
“You heard the man,” Mark said.  
  
  
  
  
Jason was content to let Mark used their shared shower first, then took his turn in the bathroom. The shower stall was obviously not part of the original fit-out for the building but had been installed with tall Terrans in mind, for which Jason was grateful. Once he had changed into his pyjamas and brushed his teeth, he returned to the bedroom, towelling at his hair.  
  
Mark was sitting up in bed, propped up against the pillows, studying a holo display projected by a palm unit.  
  
“Homework?” Jason inferred. He hung the damp towel over the back of the chair next to his bed.  
  
“Map of the Shield complex that we’re visiting tomorrow,” Mark explained. “It’s supposed to be highly classified so I have no idea how accurate this is but there are some fairly recent-ish aerial photos which could be indicative as long as they’re not using the same kind of obfuscating tech that we use over Center Neptune.”  
  
“Huh.” Jason walked around so that he stood in between the two beds and peered at the display. “It’s a pretty sharp image. Still, you never know with the Gaians, I guess.”  
  
“The whole political thing’s a real drag,” Mark decided, shutting down the display. “Glad I never wanted to be a diplomat.”  
  
“That makes two of us,” Jason agreed and climbed into his own bed. “I guess we’d better get our heads down and catch some sleep.”  
  
“Yeah.” Mark put the palm unit on his bedside table and paused as he reached for the lamp switch. “Saw you with Lieutenant Patrick this evening on your break.”  
  
“Oh, not you too!” Jason groaned. “We were on a break!”  
  
“I know,” Mark said. “I was just going to ask if you like her, man.”  
  
“Oh.” Jason was taken aback. “I thought you were going to give me the talk about workplace romances or something.”  
  
“Oh yeah, that’d be rich, coming from me!” Mark said with a snort.  
  
“Sorry, dude,” Jason said. “It’s just that Mother Superior was on my case last night.”  
  
Mark shrugged. “So, how serious is this thing with Fran?”  
  
“Did Princess ask you to ask me?” Jason hedged.  
  
“No,” Mark said. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so. I was just curious, y’know? I mean, do you want her to start hanging out with us or anything? She’s friends with Princess and now the two of you seem to be interested in each other. I just wondered.”  
  
“I like Fran,” Jason said. “A lot. She’s cool. I mean, she’s pretty and funny and we seem to like a lot of the same things. I’m just seeing where it takes us right now. It could get serious but it hasn’t yet.”  
  
“And she’s got a really solid…” Mark paused to see how Jason would react – “security clearance,” he finished.  
  
“You’re such a dork, you know that?” Jason said. “But you’re right about the security clearance. That’s one thing I don’t have to worry about. It’s nice, not having to watch every word I say.”  
  
“Yeah. I guess we should get some shuteye, not sit up yapping all night,” Mark said.  
  
“True,” Jason agreed. “How long since we shared a room like this, anyway?”  
  
“Years,” Mark said. “If you don’t count the times we spent overnight in the cerebonics lab.”  
  
“Are we getting old, skipper?”  
  
“Oh, shut up and go to sleep!” Mark switched the lamp off and plunged the room into darkness. Jason chuckled, lay down, settled himself and closed his eyes to sleep.  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  1. The two guards Veshkanian has assigned to guard the captive Gaian engineer are the pair of goons seen in many Tatsunoko anime including _Gatchaman/Battle of the Planets_. Their names are never given in canon but I call them Ing and Harek. They are idiots.
  2. Ignots: Literally, "the diseased gonads of a broken-down beast of burden." Clinically used in Spectran veterinary medicine to describe the testicular and ovarian inflammation caused by the flagellated protozoan _Trichomonas varigatus_ [11] in the Falovian Mountain Yak.  The word originates from the Falovian Mountain Dialect and is not considered acceptable in polite company. It is, however, in common vulgar usage, particularly among the more rebellious youth of the Spectran middle and upper classes who like to use profanity to shock their elders.
  3. Whilst pathogenic flagellated protozoans of genus _Trichomonas_ do exist on Earth, _varigatus_ is not an actual thing. I made it up. Because science fiction, that’s why.




	6. The Jabberwock, With Eyes of Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diplomacy occurs. Commander Veshkanian decides to crash the party. The Patriots show their true colours and G-Force are finally going to see some action.

The two full security details of the Vice President and the Chief of Galaxy Security, knife-edge perfect in their midnight blue day uniforms, snapped to attention.  
  
Julie D’Castro eyed the sidearms worn openly by each member of the combined detail. "Isn't this a little... militant?" the Vice President asked, turning to Anderson.  
  
"Perhaps," Anderson said, "but it doesn't hurt for the Gaians to be aware that we're capable of defending ourselves. You're the Vice President of the Intergalactic Federation of Peaceful Planets, Julia, we need to make it perfectly clear that you're not an easy target."  
  
"David, this is a trade delegation, not some kind of my-weapon's-bigger-than-your-weapon contest."  
  
"What this is, with all due respect, Madame Vice President, is a high-risk situation. Your safety is my responsibility and I intend to ensure your safe return to Earth once we've concluded our business here." He held D'Castro's gaze for a moment, then turned and stalked down the line past the assembled officers. Lieutenant Colonel Jones' glacial expression didn't change as he approached, but he was acutely aware of her watching him. "Don't even think it," he muttered as he passed.  
  
Lieutenant Colonel Shinji Tanaka, Officer in Charge of the Vice President's detail was standing next to Jones. He raised his eyebrows at the apparent _non-sequitur_. Anderson ignored him.  
  
Jones and Tanaka saluted their Chief of Staff. "The squads are ready for deployment, sir," Tanaka reported.  
  
"At your discretion."  
  
"Sir."  
  
The security details broke formation and the delegation climbed into the line of armoured limousines that would take them to the shield installation.  
  
Mark paused in the act of ducking his head to get into the car assigned to them and straightened. At his side, Jason recognised the look on his commanding officer's face as Mark surveyed the motorcade.  
  
"Bad feeling?" Jason inferred.  
  
"Yeah," Mark said. " _By the pricking of my thumbs_ ," he murmured.  
  
" _Something_ purple _this way comes_ ," Jason paraphrased. "Any ideas?"  
  
Mark shook his head. "Just keep your eyes peeled."   
  
  
  
  
When the motorcade pulled away and rolled down the road, bonnet-mounted Federation flags fluttering in the breeze of their passage, Mark tried to relax. Facing the rear of the limousine, he turned his attention to his fellow passengers. Next to him, Tiny clasped and unclasped his hands in his lap, seemingly trying to tie his fingers in knots. At the other end of the seat, Jason was staring out of the window, making a point of ignoring Keyop, who was directly opposite, up on his knees at his own window and bouncing up and down in place, watching the scenery like any small boy.  
  
Anderson and Jones sat in composed silence, pretending they weren't being squashed up uncomfortably close by Princess, who was trying to avoid being bounced on by her smaller colleague.   
  
"Hey, there are people watching us!" Keyop observed, and waved.  
  
"They can't see you through the tinting on the windows," Jason pointed out.  
  
Keyop's face fell. "Aw, Jason, I’m just being sociable," he explained winningly.  
  
"How about being still?" Princess suggested. "And quiet?"  
  
Mark shifted in his seat. The nagging sense of unease was still with him, residing just under his solar plexus. He had long ago learned to recognise the feeling as one he should heed, although he didn't understand it. He merely accepted it the same way he accepted its opposite, a feeling of rightness in his vitals when he knew he was on the right track.  
  
It bothered him sometimes, that he was so inclined to follow his gut feelings; even more so that his team was inclined to trust them as well. It was difficult to justify when the time came to write up his mission reports. 'I had a gut feeling,' just didn't seem as compelling on paper as it did in the field. He knew Anderson didn't like it, but Anderson wasn't the one facing down some giant mechanical horror with tentacles and laser beams, having to make split second decisions in the heat of battle.  
  
Would there be a fight today? Mark’s thoughts drifted back to their breakfast briefing that morning, where Chief Anderson had revealed that he was in possession of documents purportedly from the Gaian government which had information about their local terrorist group, the Patriots. Anderson had directed Zark to analyse the documents overnight and the robot had produced a list of the people implicated and still serving in any capacity. Mark had been horrified but Anderson had simply pointed out that implication wasn’t always enough to justify taking legal action and that sometimes, political power meant you really did get away with things. Jason had been ready to launch a tirade of his own but Mark had stepped in and tried to defuse the situation. It wasn’t their world, after all.  
  
Mark scanned the sky. The planetary shield was almost invisible, the only perceptible evidence of its presence an odd rainbow shimmer around the sun. An attack would come out of that sky, Mark reminded himself. They would have a few hours' warning of the enemy's approach at least: the Gaian system was so full of asteroids, comets and other bodies, it made Zoltar's preferred approach of a short hyperspace jump into close quarters so dangerous as to be suicidal.  
  
Princess craned her neck. "Is that the shield generator?"  
  
"Impressive," Anderson said.  
  
Mark turned in his seat and peered out at a shape looming out of the landscape. Keyop crawled over Princess' lap, eliciting an indignant protest, and leaned across Anderson and Jones to look out of the window.  
  
"It looks like the galaxy’s biggest kitchen whiz!" Keyop quipped.  
  
"I don't think it slices or dices," Princess said.  
  
"It looks like something out of science fiction," Mark said. The edifice gleamed in the sunlight, its many prongs and blades reaching up from the upper part of its supporting tower.  
  
"I wonder how much of that thing is functional and how much is form?" Anderson speculated.  
  
"Point," Mark said. "It doesn't look like the usual style of Gaian embellishment, but... wow. It must be, what, ten, fifteen storeys high?"  
  
"I'd say so," Anderson said.  
  
"Wow," Mark said again.  
  
  
  
  
It took another twenty minutes before the motorcade stopped inside the grounds of the base. The Defence Minister was standing under a gilded and tasselled awning, waiting for her visitors.  
  
The Federation contingent seemed to be a mass of midnight blue with the only splashes of colour being the civilian clothing of Julia D’Castro and her husband and the bright uniforms of G-Force. Every officer of both the Vice President’s and the Security Chief’s details had been pressed into service as an honour guard for the occasion. Colonel Jones had decreed that dress uniforms would not be required and had everyone turn out in blues. Jason took this as a sign of nerves on the part of Anderson’s security coordinator, since the day uniform was a lot easier to fight in than the dress version.  
  
In much the same way that mass curved space and created gravity, so did the looming edifice of the great tower continue to draw the eye. No matter where Jason looked, his gaze kept drifting back to the monumental structure. There was a vague shimmer like a heat haze around it, and when their hosts led them past it, he could hear it humming and sizzling with energy like a high voltage power line.  
  
Everyone seemed to be affected by it in the same way, Jason noted, watching the others, except possibly for the security details, who appeared to have edited it out of their collective awareness (Jason saw that Jones was watching the Gaians as though expecting any or all of them to pull knives and attack at any moment) and David Anderson, who, although he kept glancing at it now and then, seemed to find it somehow amusing. The Security Chief seemed far more interested in the complex itself, almost as though he was looking for something.  
  
"What is it?" Mark asked, his voice a barely audible murmur.  
  
"Chief's up to something," Jason said softly. "You can see the wheels turning."  
  
"He actually seems to be enjoying himself," Mark observed. "I feel like I should be afraid."  
  
"Be very afraid," Jason said.  
  
Half-way across the main courtyard, the Vice President and her husband had stopped and were listening as Irin introduced Commander Akkar, the officer in charge of the shield installation. Akkar, a grizzled officer in late middle age with pale grey eyes and a gruff manner about him, related a brief history of the Gaian shield and some of the attacks it had repelled. The security detail formed an arc of dark uniforms around them.  
  
"The technology itself dates back centuries," Akkar said. "Our ancestors developed what you call 'time warp' three generations before Spectra, and there are those who believe that we could have conquered the galaxy had we so chosen. We are a peaceful people, however, so we elected instead to leave that part of space that would eventually become what you call the Crab Nebula to colonise Gaia and the fifteen daughter worlds of the Gaian Commonwealth. The first shield was put in place to protect us from asteroid strikes.  
"Our study of other races led us to believe that when star travel became widespread, they would covet our knowledge, and so the Guild of Artificers developed this first great shield from the original one that protected us from the asteroids of the Goddess' Kirtle. For over two hundred of your years it has protected the mother world from invasion and attack."  
  
Anderson, stalking around the periphery of the group with Colonel Jones shadowing him, remained silent.  
  
Irin's mouth turned down at the corners. "Until now," she added sadly as Anderson stopped at her side.  
  
"You've always been a peaceful people," he said, "and you've channelled your energies into developing a magnificent culture. While you've been doing that, Zoltar has been putting his efforts into developing weapons to destroy us all, and we've been doing everything we can to try and stop him." Anderson didn't look at Irin but let his gaze travel up the height of the great tower. "I'm not asking you to join the fight, Minister. I'm only asking you not to let everything you've worked for fall to Spectra."  
  
"You make it sound so simple," Irin said.  
  
"It _is_ simple," Anderson said. "That's all it really comes down to. Everything else comes from your fear. What do you fear the most, Irin?"  
  
Irin uttered a short, bitter laugh. "It is difficult to say. You ask us to choose between two great expansionist military powers. One seeks conquest through force, the other through guile and diplomacy. Perhaps the question is not one of who we fear the most, but who will make the worst enemy!"  
  
Anderson's smile lasted the barest fraction of a second. "You may not have much time to decide."  
  
"Guile and diplomacy," Julia D'Castro said. "Minister, guile may well be David's forté, but he's no diplomat. The fact is that the Federation is a peaceful confederation of worlds. We have an old saying on Earth, _if you desire peace, prepare for war_. Zoltar preys upon the weak and we refuse to be victims. We don't want to take over the Commonwealth or any other world that doesn't want to join us. It's a big galaxy and there's more than enough room for everyone. We merely seek to protect our people and to be blunt, the best way for us to do that right now is to protect yours. We share common goals of peace and prosperity. We respect your desire to be left alone, but Zoltar won't leave you alone and if you fall, he'll use your technology and resources against us." D'Castro reached out a hand in appeal. "Irin, we're both mothers. My son is an officer in the Cosmic Space Patrol. He risks his life to protect my people. I won't ask you to imagine the fear that grips me every time I know he's out there, but you'll know worse than that if Gaia falls to Zoltar. If you don't want close diplomatic ties with us, then we won't push the issue, but I beg you, don't be so stubborn as to stand alone and lose, when you could win with our help."  
  
Irin didn't take the Vice President's hand. "Understand our fear, Julia: if you help us in the way you propose, you will acquire the knowledge to defeat us. What would prevent you, once Spectra was defeated, from destroying us if you so choose? Governments change, Madame Vice President. You will not always be in power, and much as it pains me to admit it, Chief Anderson is right about one thing. We have stagnated. Our scientists will be hard-pressed to develop new defences once the shield technology is in your hands. Allowing you to help us is as good as a tacit surrender."  
  
D'Castro nodded. "I understand your fear, and I invite you to consider history. We’ve long had close ties with Planet Riga, an older civilisation than ours. When they needed our help, we gave everything we could. We didn't try to conquer them. Even now, we shelter their government-in-exile and provide safe haven to thousands of refugees from their world."  
  
"Yes," Irin said. "Riga is a friend to the Federation, and Riga is losing the fight against Zoltar while the Federation closes ranks. Friendship with the Federation, it seems, is no guarantee of safety."  
  
"Then perhaps you should compare the list of worlds that have been forcibly occupied by Spectra with the list of worlds occupied by the Federation," D'Castro said, beginning to lose patience.  
  
"Words," Irin said. "Zoltar has spoken of 'liberating' worlds where you speak of ‘occupation.’ He speaks of the Federation’s ‘economic domination’ and ‘cultural assimilation’ of other worlds where you speak of 'closer ties.' You all claim to have our best interests at heart."  
  
"On the contrary," Anderson said. "Zoltar claims to have your best interests at heart. We claim to have _our_ best interests at heart. As it happens, our best interests just happen to coincide with preventing your 'liberation' at Zoltar's hands. The choice is yours, Minister."  
  
"Not mine but that of the Conclave," Irin corrected. "I will not be drawn into speculation," she said. "Come. I will show you the Operations Centre, where we monitor and control the shield."  
  
As the group turned to go, Jason saw Anderson take one last glance at the great tower. There was a gleam in the Security Chief’s eyes as he followed Irin toward the main building. Jason hung back and looked at the tower. What was Anderson seeing that everyone else seemed to be missing? What was so funny?  
  
There was an awful lot of technology in the tower: it bristled with superstructure. It buzzed and crackled with sheer power. It stood as a monument to the history and ingenuity of those long-ago artificers and engineers who --  
  
"G-2!" Mark called.  
  
"Sorry," Jason said, and hurried to catch up. _A monument..._  
  
  
  
  
Veshkanian paced the span of the view screen and back again.  
  
"Not long now," Derel said.  
  
"Computer modelling," Veshkanian said. "What a way to commence one of the most glorious conquests of the modern-day Empire... with an animation."  
  
"It is the way of things," Derel said, shrugging.  
  
"The bards will not write a song cycle about computer models," Veshkanian grumbled.  
  
"Sometimes," Derel said, "we must allow poetry to give way to prose."  
  
"You are so practical," Veshkanian said. "I dream of greatness but you understand that the way to the dream is made up of small steps. You are right, Derel: we will have our battle soon enough. I am impatient, but do not tell your good lady that I admitted it. She says my impatience will be my downfall."  
  
"Vilia is good at organising other people's lives," Derel remarked. "She keeps telling me to remind you that her cousin Nirri has had her Dawnstar ceremony and is in the market for a husband of suitable social standing."  
  
"I remember Nirri," Veshkanian recalled. "A pretty little thing."  
  
"With a very attractive dowry and noble bloodlines. I know this because Vilia impresses it on me in every letter she writes."  
  
"She would have me wed and part of the family!" Veshkanian laughed.  
  
"You could do worse," Derel said. "Not that you need to make a social or political marriage, with your ancestry, but it never hurts."  
  
"Well, your own marriage was arranged," Veshkanian reasoned, "and you are happy enough."  
  
"I was lucky," Derel said, smiling. "It isn't every man who falls in love with his wife."  
  
"If I have half your luck, my friend," Veshkanian said, "I will be content." He considered the star field. "We have been like brothers since we were grubby little boys learning to hunt frogs and swamp-nots together. It is fitting that we should be cousins as well as comrades. Tell Vilia she may speak for me to Nirri's parents, and when we return victorious from Gaia, the Great Spirit willing, we will celebrate a betrothal!"  
  
  
  
  
"If this facility were to be breached or an enemy made an incursion of any kind," Anderson said, "how vulnerable would the shield system be?"  
  
"In the event of hostile activity," Commander Akkar said, "a force field is activated around the tower. In addition, we have backup generators ranged at various sites across each major land mass."  
  
"So you consider the tower your main point of vulnerability," Anderson inferred.  
  
"It is the most obvious point for an enemy to target," Akkar said. "Our analysis of the risk is not something I am prepared to discuss with you, any more than you would be were our roles reversed."  
  
"True," Anderson conceded without rancour. "It's a very impressive facility, Commander." He let his gaze travel out the window to the tower with its fantastic protrusions. "Very impressive, indeed." He was rewarded with a sharp glance from Iringalara Haa, and one corner of his mouth twitched upward in a brief flicker of a smile.  
  
“Hmph!” Akkar scowled into the middle distance. “The shield has always kept us safe! I don’t see why we need outworlder help to fend off the Spectrans.”  
  
“Commander,” Iringalara Haa said softly, “I know you have read the reports from the colonies –”  
  
“Those were colonies and outposts!” Akkar grumbled. “This is the Great Shield! It is more complex and more powerful than anything the Spectrans have managed to bring down! We _will_ hold and protect the mother world, no matter what these Federation outworlders say.”  
  
A siren sounded and Commander Akkar reached for a comm unit which had been hooked onto his belt. He placed a call, his already grim countenance darkening as he listened to the person at the other end. “There is a ship approaching the asteroid field,” he told his guests. “It has no transponder return and its configuration matches that of the vessels which attacked our colonies. I’m heading down to the control room. You might as well come with me and I’ll show you how we deal with transgressors. Minister?”  
  
“Yes,” Irin said. “We’ll accompany you.”  
  
Moving a large group of people is never as easy as moving one or two so the Federation delegation was several minutes behind Commander Akkar, who showed no inclination to wait for stragglers. By the time the security details were deployed and the dignitaries admitted to the control room with their personal guards, Commander Akkar had already taken charge.  
  
The control room was in a large bunker several levels underground. The screen which took up most of one wall displayed the Gaian asteroid field. A large, spiked vessel was approaching the shipping lane.  
  
“As you can see,” Akkar announced, “we have one hostile, ignoring all hails, navigating the asteroid field at sublight speed. Thus far they’ve made no attempt to attack the shield but we can be fairly certain that they will try once they are close enough to engage. If the ship maintains its current course and speed we estimate its arrival at the shield boundary in approximately three hours.”  
  
Mark frowned. "I think the presumption of hostility's a safe bet," he said.  
  
"Looks like one of Zoltar's little pets all right," Jason said.  
  
Tiny considered. "Reminds me of a crown of thorns starfish," he remarked. "You remember, Keyop? We saw 'em at the aquarium."  
  
"Whatever it is," Keyop said, "it’s one ugly customer."  
  
Princess remained silent, but gazed questioningly at Anderson. The Chief of Security watched the view screen impassively, aware of Princess' unspoken plea. He waited a few moments before turning to their host. "Minister?" he invited.  
  
"You believe the ship is Spectran?" Irin said.  
  
"You know it is," Anderson replied.  
  
“And we will deal with it,” Commander Akkar declared. “My adjutant, Captain Ekeng, will escort you to the visitors' lounge. I will attend you presently."  
  
"But we can --" Jason began to protest.  
  
"Thank you, Commander," Julia D'Castro said, cutting Jason off. "Minister, I hope the Federation will be able to assist you in this time of trouble. Should you require it, Chief Anderson's expertise and the G‑Force team with their ship will be at your disposal. We'll wait for you in the lounge."  
  
"Madame Vice President." Irin inclined her head.  
  
The Federation contingent followed Captain Ekeng from the Operations Centre. Jason clenched and unclenched his hands. "Why are we walking away from this?" he demanded.  
  
"It isn't our call, Jason," Mark said, keeping his voice low.  
  
"It's Spectra!" Jason reasoned. "They're our enemy!"  
  
"Enough," Anderson said. "We can discuss this later."  
  
They arrived at the visitors' lounge and stood in an uncertain cluster. Julia D'Castro squared her shoulders and lifted her head.  
  
"Thank you, Captain Ekeng," she said. "We've taken up a lot of your valuable time. Please assure the Minister that we'll cooperate with your government in any way we can. We'll wait for you here."  
  
"Madame." Ekeng bowed and left.  
  
"Nicely handled, Julia," Anderson remarked once Ekeng was gone.  
  
"I'm a politician," D'Castro said, "I have to be good for something. Would you excuse us?" she nodded to G-Force and headed over to the window. Anderson followed.  
  
"Is this where I stand between you and the flying excrement?" Anderson asked.  
  
"Interplanetary conflict is your gig, David," D'Castro said. "I'm authorising you to act as you see fit, in the best interests of the Federation."  
  
"Understood, Madame Vice President," Anderson said.  
  
"I'll hang around until Irin comes back and tells us the Regent has authorised her to request our assistance. I'll do the gracious statesman thing and head back to the Embassy. I'm trusting you with this. You'd better not let me down, for all our sakes."  
  
"That goes without saying," Anderson said.  
  
"I'm saying it, anyway," D'Castro said. "Deal with this."  
  
"In which case," Anderson said, "I think the first order of business is for you and Peter to take your staff and evacuate. You're at too much risk here. Go back to the Embassy and pack. I'll arrange for the _Pegasus_ to be ready for take-off within the hour. The Cosmic Patrol has the starship _Daedalus_ patrolling just outside Gaian space. I'll call them and arrange to have your ship escorted back to Earth."  
  
"We have a warship patrolling in the area?" D'Castro put her hands on her hips. "I wasn't informed."  
  
"This is trade a delegation, Julia. You didn't need to know."  
  
"One of these days, David..."  
  
"Yes, of course, Madame Vice President, but until then, you've left me in charge."  
  
  
  
  
The security detail snapped to attention at Lieutenant Colonel Jones' arrival. Lieutenant Colonel Tanaka stepped forward to address his colleague in low tones. "We’re set to go. Have you heard anything else?”  
  
"Looks like we’re playing a waiting game," Jones said. “Thank whatever powers-that-be for that asteroid field. You’ll have time to get away and meet up with the _Daedalus_.”  
  
"You're not coming with us?" Tanaka queried.  
  
"It depends on the Gaians," Jones said. "If they ask us to stay and help, then we get front row seats to the attack, otherwise, they'll give us the boot. Depending on the timing, we may all have to try and cram in aboard the _Phoenix_."  
  
"Why is it you seem to get all the action?" Tanaka said.  
  
"Because my protection assignment thinks he can save the galaxy," Jones said.  
  
"You know the scary part, Al?"  
  
"Which in particular of the many and varied scary parts are you referring to?"  
  
"Your protection assignment probably _can_ save the galaxy."  
  
"For heaven’s sake, Shinji, don’t let him hear you say that! He already thinks he’s invincible."  
  
"Don’t they all? I’ll swap places with you any time," Tanaka offered, grinning.  
  
"Sorry, no," Jones said. "Major Alban will be riding back with you. I need her to pick up some equipment from the Embassy."  
  
"No problem. Good luck, Al."  
  
"Thanks, Shinji. Safe journey." The two officers shook hands and parted company.  
  
  
  
  
Iringalara Haa entered the room and approached Julia D'Castro. The Federation Vice President towered over the Gaian Defence Minister, but Irin stood with her back straight and her head up to look D'Castro in the eye.  
  
"Madame Vice President," Irin said, "the Queen Regent sends greetings and asks that I convey to you her personal gratitude for your offer of assistance at this time. The Prime Minister has authorised a formal request for consultancy services and such military support as may be provided by those persons in your delegation as are presently on Gaia. Are you willing to help us?"  
  
"On behalf of the Intergalactic Federation of Peaceful Planets," D'Castro said formally, "I willingly vouchsafe to your government and the people of Gaia such assistance as we may extend to you. I've authorised Security Chief Anderson to act on my behalf. My husband and I are being sent back to Earth along with my personal staff, but Doctor Anderson and his personnel will remain here to assist you."  
  
"My thanks, Madame Vice President," Irin said.  
  
The Vice President and her husband made their exit, followed by the accompanying officers of their security detail.  
  
"How do you suggest we proceed?" Irin asked Anderson.  
  
"Let's go to the Operations Centre," Anderson said. He motioned to Mark, who hurried over. "Commander, return to the Embassy with the Vice President's party and ready the _Phoenix_ for launch."  
  
"Big ten, Chief. Let's go!" Mark called to his team. They ran from the room.  
  
  
  
  
"We should have launched the _Phoenix_ and been on the way to blasting that thing out of the sky the minute Zoltar’s ship showed its ugly face," Jason hissed. Once again, he was crammed into the rear-most seat of the car between Mark and Tiny.  
  
"I think it's political," Princess said from the seat opposite.  
  
" _Political?_ " Jason repeated the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth.  
  
"This whole mission is political," Mark said. "This isn't a Federation planet or even an Allied World. We’ve got no authority here. We had to wait until the Gaians officially asked us for our help."  
  
"That's just plain stupid," Jason said.  
  
"Of course it's stupid," Mark agreed, "but it's the way it is. I don't like it any more than you do, Jason, but we have to play by the rules."  
  
"The rules are ridiculous!" Jason growled.  
  
"Second that," Keyop said.  
  
"Whatever," Princess said. "I think the Chief is dealing with it."  
  
"What's he doing?" Jason asked. "I don't see him arguing our case."  
  
"I think there's something going on," Princess said. "Did you see him talking with the Minister, before? He said something that sounded completely innocent and she went about three shades of pale!"  
  
"It could be cultural," Tiny suggested. "You know... you say something about the weather and it turns out you've insulted somebody's mother?"  
  
"No," Princess said. "There's something going on at a whole other level, here."  
  
"Whatever it is, I have a bad feeling about the whole thing," Mark said.  
  
"That's not good," Jason said.  
  
"Never is," Tiny said gloomily. He flexed his hands. "Even if all we end up doing is evacuating, it's going to feel good to be back aboard the _Phoenix_."  
  
  
  
  
Anderson followed Irin to the Operations Centre where the activity remained outwardly controlled, but he could hear the tension in the voices of the staff and see it in the way the Coordinator paced up and down in the centre of the room.  
  
"The asteroid field clearly poses certain logistical challenges," Anderson said. "It's keeping the incoming ship in check but it'll also hamper the _Phoenix._ We can't really stage a running battle in the middle of it."  
  
"The environmental damage alone would be appalling," Irin said.  
  
"Environmental damage'll be the least of your problems if that ship breaches the shields, Irin," Anderson pointed out. "May I see a tactical display of the planet and its approaches?"  
  
  
  
  
Mark was already on edge, and when his communicator sounded with 7-Zark-7’s alert tone, he jumped. “What is it, Zark?”  
  
_“Commander, my scanners have detected a suspicious group of people approximately one kilometre ahead of you. They look to be setting up a road block of some kind and they’re armed._ ”  
  
“Tell our drivers to stop here,” Mark said. “Is there only the one group?”  
  
_“I can detect only one group, Commander,_ ” Zark said.  
  
The motorcade pulled over and armed guards exited the vehicles, weapons at the ready. Mark had the driver of the G-Force vehicle leave and get in one of the other cars while Jason took the wheel and Mark sat beside him. In the back seat, Tiny opened the sunroof and the others readied their weapons.  
  
“Pedal to the metal, Jase,” Mark said.  
  
The black car’s wheels spun on the tarmac and it sped past the motorcade.  
  
“Let’s hope the armour on this thing is as good as the stuff back home,” Princess said.  
  
“Brace,” Jason warned.  
  
Mark took a deep breath. Flimsy construction barricades had been put in place across the road and people dressed as road crews were standing behind them. Road crews generally didn’t carry guns, however.  
  
Small-calibre bullets pinged off the armoured vehicle as Jason gunned the motor and the car ploughed through the barricades, scattering timber, plastic and men. Jason pulled on the handbrake as he depressed the brake pedal and turned the wheel. He spun the car around in a wide arc, knocking three men flying.  
  
“Nice,” Mark said. “Ready, team?”  
  
“Just say the word!” Tiny said.  
  
“Now!” Mark said, and G-Force flung open the doors and leaped from the car.  
  
The Gaian civilians charged with screams of “Patriots!” and “For the Mother world!”  
  
Mark was casting his boomerang even as he found his feet and saw two men drop. As he leaped and caught the boomerang on the return curve he noticed that only about a third of the would-be terrorists were carrying assault rifles. The rest seemed to have farm or hunting weapons. The nanotechnology in his cape went rigid as he flung up an arm to shield himself from a bullet.  
  
“Target the assault rifles first!” he called out to his team.  
  
Tiny was shielding Keyop and charged a man who dropped his gun in fright and ran for his life. Tiny changed course and ploughed into a group of three.  
  
Keyop took down one potential shooter with his bolas and felled another with a flying kick while Princess was working her way through the group with her fists.  
  
Mark turned to select another target and realised that nobody was left standing but himself and his team. “Zark,” he said into his communicator. “Do you have any more hostiles?”  
  
“ _You’re clear, Commander_ ,” Zark replied. _“Shall I contact the Gaian authorities?”_  
  
“Might as well,” Mark said. “Tell the Veep’s convoy to shake a leg and get back to the Embassy. We’ll fly them back to the spaceport in the _Phoenix._ It’ll be a tight fit but it’ll be safer.”  
  
“Amateurs,” Princess said, looking around at the dead and injured Gaians. “They had no idea what they were doing or what they were up against. I think some of them were taken out by their own shooters.”  
  
“Even an amateur only needs to be lucky once,” Jason said.  
  
“The limos are going to be here in a minute,” Tiny called. “Help me clear a path.”  
  
Mark wondered what the Vice President would think as her limousine glided past the bodies. He didn’t bother watching the cars as they drove past. He kept his attention on the surviving Gaians, who fortunately, seemed to have decided to give up.  
  
“I don’t know what your aim was for this exercise in futility,” Mark told one of the men who glared at him from a sitting position on the ground, “but as it happens, we’re evacuating, so you’ve probably wasted your time as well as the lives of your friends.” He turned and stalked back to the car. Jason had the motor running again and the G-Force team headed back to the Federation Embassy.  
  
  
  
  
The crew of the _Pegasus_ had left their quarters at the Embassy as soon as the evacuation order had come through. They had gone straight to the spaceport and prepared the ship for take-off. She waited on the apron, her auxiliary power unit at idle. The crew had been expecting a convoy of limousines. What they didn’t expect was to receive a radio call with instructions to taxi out further onto the field, away from the terminal buildings, and have the _Phoenix_ carry out a vertical landing next to them.  
  
When the _Pegasus_ was loaded, she received her taxi clearance and headed for the runway. The _Phoenix_ followed and the two ships took off in formation.  
  
"How are we going to handle fighting that Spectra ship in the middle of an asteroid field?" Princess wondered aloud.  
  
"We could make ourselves a hole," Jason said, "but it'd take a lot of ordnance."  
  
"Ordnance we may need against the enemy," Mark finished.  
  
"Incoming tele-comm," Princess reported, and acknowledged the call.  
  
Anderson's image appeared on the tele-comm screen. _"Team, I'm not going to send you out there to meet this ship head on. The asteroid field's just too dangerous, even in the shipping lane. From the intelligence the Defence Ministry has been able to gather on previous attacks, the alien ship may be vulnerable while it's taking the shield down. It appears that it has to transmit a high-powered signal strong enough to override the interference from the shield itself and decode the security protocols before sending a command to shut down. You may have a brief window of opportunity to destroy it during that time. Zark's sending you and the_ Pegasus _on a launch vector that should take you out via the night side of Gaia, then while the_ Pegasus _makes its rendezvous with_ Daedalus _you'll use the time we have to navigate your way back through the field without being detected. You’ll hold position at the coordinates Zark gives you and wait for a green light."_  
  
"We’ll use our mad ninja skills!" Keyop remarked, grinning.  
  
_"Be careful,"_ Anderson admonished, " _and don’t get caught._ "  
  
  
  
  
In the Operations Centre, Anderson closed the comm channel. Iringalara Haa turned to him, the concern patent on her face. "If you can stop them this time, we will all be grateful," she said, "but what will happen the next time?"  
  
"That's something we need to discuss," Anderson said, "but not now. Let's survive today." He frowned. "I could use some coffee."  
  
"I regret we have none," Irin told him.  
  
Anderson turned to Jones, who had retreated to a quiet corner in order to stay out of the way.  
  
"Our coffee machines won't work on the Gaian power outlets, sir," Jones said. "Best we can manage is tea. Sorry.”  
  
"I will have Ekeng set up an office for you," Irin said. "Please excuse me for now. I must report back to the Prime Minister."  
  
Anderson waited until Irin had left before glancing at Jones. "I think I can guess what you're going to say."  
  
"I'll say it anyway," Jones said. "My advice is that you adjourn to the shelter below the Embassy prior to the _Phoenix_ engaging the enemy ship. You can remain in contact with the Ops Centre and G-Force from the bunker. Your safety is paramount, sir."  
  
"You don't think the Embassy will be a prime target?"  
  
"A secondary one, sir," Jones said. "This installation will be the primary target. Both our analyses confirm that. You know I'd rather you’d evacuated with the Vice President but there's no point in me beating my head against a wall any more than I do already, is there?"  
  
"All right, Al, if it looks like we're going to come under fire, we'll go back to the Embassy." Anderson folded his arms. "It pains me to say it, but in this case, you could be right."  
  
Jones stared. "Words fail me, sir."  
  
"That'd be a first," Anderson retorted. He took an intense personal satisfaction in the glare she directed at him.  
  
Captain Ekeng cleared his throat. "Chief Anderson," he said. "Forgive me for interrupting. My people are preparing one of the small conference rooms for your use. What will you require?"  
  
"A computer terminal," Anderson said, "access to your comms system, an administrative officer to navigate your procedures. Copies of your emergency plans and civil defence protocols."  
  
"Civil defence?" Ekeng shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, we have no militia on Gaia. There are only the regular armed forces, or perhaps you refer to the reserve?"  
  
"I refer," Anderson said, "to your disaster plans. You may have to evacuate the city and initiate an emergency response to protect the general populace. You do _have_ a disaster plan?"  
  
"I will make enquiries," Ekeng said. "This way, please."  
  
  
  
  
Veshkanian leaned back in the command chair. "They have detected our presence?"  
  
"Our monitoring of the Gaian tactical communications channels confirms it, sir," Derel said.  
  
"Establish a communications link with Captain Rajik on Unit Two," Veshkanian ordered.  
  
A moment later, the main viewscreen displayed the visage of a bridge seemingly identical to their own. " _Commander Veshkanian,_ " a Spectran officer said. " _You have orders for us?_ "  
  
"Indeed, Captain Rajik," Veshkanian said. "As predicted, a Federation transport ship has left Gaia, presumably evacuating non-military personnel. We are transmitting the course taken by the transport. It is presently navigating the system's asteroid field toward open space. You will change course to intercept and attack that vessel. I believe the Vice President is on board. Take her alive if you can, but if not… well, her death will send a powerful message to the Federation."  
  
" _Yes, Commander_ ," Rajik acknowledged. " _Hail, Spectra!_ "  
  
"Of course. Hail, Spectra." Veshkanian leaned one elbow on the arm of his chair as the channel closed and the view screen once again showed the Gaian planetary system. "Now our little Gaian friends will see where the Federation's loyalties truly lie."  
  
  
  
  
In the conference room where Anderson and his staff were observing the goings-on, the Defence Minister was providing an update while Ekeng monitored a secure channel on a portable device and Commander Akkar cast black looks without discrimination. The Gaian administrative officer was nervously setting up a workstation and trying to avoid eye contact with Akkar while a security detail arranged themselves around the edges of the room and looked bored.  
  
“The city is being evacuated,” Irin reported. “We will not be able to evacuate the entire city in the time remaining before that enemy ship is in attack range, but we are staging the transport of people away from the areas adjacent to the shield facility.”  
  
"Minister," Eckeng said, "the STC system has picked up three more enemy ships heading our way."  
  
"Three?" Irin's fists clenched in despair. "How far away are they?"  
  
"If they hold their current course and speed, Madame, just under four hours."  
  
Anderson activated his communicator. "Mark."  
  
_"Ears on, Chief."_   
  
"Report, Commander."   
  
_"We’re about to exit the asteroid field,"_ Mark said. _"No contact with the enemy as yet."_  
  
"Keep hunting," Anderson said, "but be ready to move. The Gaians have detected another three ships inbound for the planet."  
  
_"Another three? How are we supposed to --?"_  
  
"Hopefully, you won't have to," Anderson said. He closed the channel. "Zark, come in," he called again.  
  
_"Ears on,"_ the robot answered promptly.  
  
"I need you to transmit everything you have on the Gaian planetary shield system."  
  
_"At this distance,"_ Zark said, _"I estimate you will experience a delayed download. The anticipated interval is nine point seven three four seconds."_  
  
"I'll live with it," Anderson said dryly.  
  
" _Uploading,_ " Zark reported.  
  
"Commander Akkar," Anderson said, "do you have any status reports from the shield generator?"  
  
"The shield hardware is intact," Akkar said.  
  
"That’s as may be,” Captain Ekeng said, “but the system is beginning to show signs of interference. The technicians are starting to experience a lag in response times.  This is exactly what happened at the start of the other attacks!"  
  
"Are you absolutely sure?" Anderson pressed. "Is there anything we can work with?"  
  
"Your guess is as good as mine," Irin sighed.  
  
"I'm not playing guessing games," Anderson growled. "We're going to need the best engineering staff you have."  
  
"They are already working on the problem," Akkar declared. "They will keep the shield up."   
  
“You cannot guarantee that,” Irin said, earning a vicious glower from the Commander.  
  
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Anderson offered. “My A I unit has studied everything we have on the shield and it’s programmed to defend systems against the best hackers Zoltar can bring to bear. Perhaps we can buy you some time.”  
  
"So that the Spectrans can bypass the shield again?" Irin cried. "What would be the point?"  
  
"We have to try and modify the shield configuration to keep those ships out of here," Anderson explained.  
  
"You will never do it in time," Irin predicted.  
  
"Let us _try_."  
  
Irin took a deep breath, and dared to hope. "I will speak with the Prime Minister at once," she declared.  
  
Anderson watched as Irin and her personal bodyguards hurried from the room. “I hate waiting,” he remarked.  
  
“Then wait no longer,” Akkar said, drawing a gun from under his tunic. “I have had less than half a day of you outworlders poking around at my installation and it has already been far too much.”  
  
Anderson’s detail had their weapons drawn and aimed at Akkar. Anderson held up a hand and there was a collective indrawing of breath.  
  
“Commander!” Ekeng cried in alarm. “What are you doing?”  
  
“What you should have done!” Akkar shouted angrily. “I am ridding us of the Federation infestation! Corporal Lenar, what are you waiting for? Draw your weapon!”  
  
The administrative officer glanced nervously at the guns held by the Galaxy Security contingent.  
  
“Inadvisable, Corporal,” Anderson said. “I suggest you stay exactly where you are and keep your hands where we can see them.” He turned his attention to Akkar. “Exactly what do you plan to do with us?” Anderson asked.  
  
“I want you gone. All of you,” Akkar said.  
  
“We are under attack by Spectra!” Ekeng argued.  
  
“Be quiet or I’ll put a bullet in your traitorous heart,” Akkar snarled. “We may be under attack by Spectra but we are also under attack by the Federation, and these aliens are within reach while the Spectrans will be repelled by the shield. Ekeng, you and your masters are fools not to recognise our enemies for what they are! Go and stand with them, then, since you are so fond of them. You can share their fate.”  
  
“I wondered if you’d make a move today,” Anderson surmised. “How do you plan on walking out of this base alive once the news gets out? Your sympathies are already known to your government and mine.”  
  
“With you as a hostage, of course,” Akkar said. “Even if I die, I will go to my death honourably, in the service of the mother world. All of you into the centre of the room. Lay down your weapons or your Security Chief dies.”  
  
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” Jones said, stepping between Akkar and Anderson, blocking Akkar’s line of sight.  
  
“Get out of the way, you stupid cow!” Akkar snapped. “You think I won’t shoot a woman?”  
  
Jones directed an icy stare at the Gaian commander. “Whether you shoot me or not, Commander, you won’t get your hostage. If you pull that trigger, you’ll hit me. That’s a given. What you may not have considered is that in the time it takes you to shoot me and refocus your aim, my officers will have opened fire on _you_. They won’t miss. You won’t get a second shot off, I promise you that. I ask that you stand down, sir.”  
  
Akkar’s jaw tightened as he took in the Galaxy Security officers who stood ready to react.  
  
“You’ll make just as good a hostage, yourself,” he decided.  
  
“No, Commander,” Jones said. “My men will shoot _through_ me to get to you. Those are their orders. You have two choices, sir: live or die. I should point out that it’d be a pretty pointless death. You won’t have achieved anything and I’m quite sure the Defence Ministry can concoct a cover story to prevent you becoming a martyr for your cause. Put the gun down, please.”  
  
With a grimace of disgust, Akkar opened his hand and let the gun fall to the floor.  
  
Corporal Lenar whimpered and looked as though he might throw up.  
  
Captain Ekeng moved forward, his sidearm drawn. “Commander Akkar. It gives me no pleasure to arrest you in the name of the King. Come with me, sir. You too, Corporal. Hand over your weapon.”   
  
Anderson watched as Ekeng disarmed Lenar, then escorted his prisoners from the room. He waited for the door to close behind them before he spoke. “You took a big risk, Al. He could have just shot you.”  
  
“I’m wearing body armour under my uniform,” Jones said, “and even if he’d blown my head off, the rest of the detail wouldn’t have missed.”  
  
“Is that what you call an acceptable risk?” Anderson demanded.  
  
“Why, yes, sir,” Jones said. “That’s exactly it. Bairstow, Maxwell, take up position outside the door. Let no-one through without my authorisation. “Falcone, you’re inside the door. Patrick, Rossi, you have Chief Anderson’s back. He doesn’t move without one or both of you stuck to him like a burr.”  
  
A chorus of “Sir!”s were barked out in response and the squad deployed.  
  
“Do I get any say in this?” Anderson asked.  
  
“No, sir,” Jones said. “Commander Akkar didn’t strike me as being a _particularly_ stupid man. I doubt very much that he was acting alone.”  
  
“And the Patriots have already tried one attack elsewhere today that we know of,” Anderson said. “I need to warn Irin that the Patriots may be attempting some kind of coordinated action.” He took his palm unit from his pocket and tapped at it. “Zark. Get me a secure channel to the Gaian Defence Minister.”  
  
  
  
  
“You’re kidding!” Mark stared at the monitor. “Everyone’s okay?”  
  
“ _Yes, Commander_ ,” 7-Zark-7 said. “ _Chief Anderson’s group is secure at the shield installation for now. He’s advised me that the Gaian Prime Minister has now formally requested Federation assistance. You are authorised to engage the enemy at your discretion_.”  
  
“Big ten, Zark,” Mark said. “We’ll hold position until we see the whites of their eyes, then we’ll nail ‘em.”  



	7. Came Whiffling Through the Tulgey Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G-Force engages the invading Spectran forces, with mixed results. Chief Anderson is told to behave himself. The Gaians are about to get some combat experience.

 

By the time he had questioned Commander Akkar and Corporal Lenar, Captain Ekeng had discovered that he was extremely angry. Alberta Jones watched with wry approval as the officer stalked around the conference room, snarling orders into a communicator.  
  
“I think I like him,” she decided.  
  
“He’s a little short for you,” Anderson quipped.  
  
Ekeng finished the call he was on, stopped his pacing and approached his visitors. “We have made several arrests. Two more junior officers were implicated as sympathisers. They _claim_ they hadn’t actually joined Akkar’s group but they’ve been detained as a precaution. This is a disaster! Not only are we facing an attack by Spectra, but our own people are giving in to political madness! I’m going to have to go and address the men. Please stay here. It would be for the best if you weren’t involved at this point.”  
  
  
  
  
All around the base, orders were being relayed and men were scrambling to obey. The Gaian soldiers hurried out into the large quadrangle in the shadow of the great shield tower and fell in to await the grim news. Naturally the rumour mill, which worked just as quickly on Gaia as it did on any other world, had been productive. The men whispered and muttered among themselves – Commander Akkar had assassinated the outworlder General! The base had been taken over by the ISO! The Patriots had carried out a coup!  
  
“Attention!”  
  
The men obeyed smartly, straightening up and staring straight ahead as Captain Ekeng stalked up and down in front of them.  
  
“No doubt you all know of the so-called Patriot movement,” Ekeng said. “They claim to have our best interests at heart, these grey men in their darkened rooms who plot and scheme while honest men stand ready to lay down our lives for our mother world. Know this: they are not patriots! They are traitors! Commander Akkar had been turned by these men and is now under arrest for attempting to abduct a Federation representative, all while we are planning to defend Gaia against an attack from Spectra!”  
  
There was a collective drawing-in of breath as the men absorbed the news.  
  
Ekeng glared at them. “Such is not the act of a hero. Such is not the act of a man of honour! We are not saved but weakened from within! It is true that the Federation aliens do not love Gaia as we do! How could they? They have home worlds of their own! But right now, at this moment, they are not our enemies. Our enemies are inbound from space and will soon attempt to destroy this great shield! It may be that Commander Akkar convinced some of you that we should not work with aliens, and a man’s heart is his own, but today we must stand together and fight Spectra. They are the _immediate_ threat which must be dealt with! By us! If any man cannot stand by his oath to the King and follow my orders, then let him leave now and walk with his shame forever!”  
  
The men were silent for a moment, then a young private saluted. “I am with you, sir! I am loyal to the Crown and the mother world!”  
  
“And I!” called another. Soon, the quadrangle reverberated to shouts and oaths of loyalty.  
  
“Let there be no disunity as long as Spectra threatens us,” Ekeng told them.  
  
  
  
  
_“Commander, one of the Spectran ships has changed course!”_ Zark’s synthesised voice sounded agitated. “ _It made a short warp hop away from the battle group and it’s now closing on your position!”_  
  
Mark was on his feet. “Give us some intercept coordinates, Zark.”  
  
“ _Transmitting now_.”  
  
Mark and Jason studied the tactical display. “ _Pegasus_ is vulnerable until she can get clear of the asteroids,” Mark said. “The fastest way to deal with our uninvited guest is to warp to a point between the asteroid field and the Spectran ship. The Spectrans are in clean space so we could get pretty close if we have to.”  
  
“And we’d be a sitting target,” Jason pointed out, “if they detect our warp field as we drop back into normal space.”  
  
“Could we warp in just out of their weapons range and go in at sublight speed?” Keyop wondered.  
  
“That’d give them time to launch their fighters,” Mark said. “No. We need the element of surprise.” He turned in his seat to look at Tiny. “What if we're not where they expect us to be when they attack?" he suggested.  
  
"You’re thinking Schell Manoeuvre,  [12] Commander?" Tiny asked.  
  
"You up for it, Tiny?" Mark asked.  
  
“It's gonna be rough," Tiny warned with a glance at his team-mates.  
  
"But we have a better chance of not being blown to smithereens when we exit time warp," Jason reasoned. "I can live with it if the rest of you can."  
  
"Since you're the one who has to stay alert and fire the missiles," Mark said, "that's good enough for me, Jason."  
  
"Hand back manual control, Zark," Tiny said. "I'll take it from here."  
  
_"I'm uploading some calculations --"_ Zark began.  
  
"That's okay," Tiny said. "I'll handle it."  
  
_"Are you sure?"_ Zark asked.  
  
"He'll handle it," Mark said, and closed the channel. "Do what you have to do, Tiny. Jason, you ready?"  
  
"Yep," Jason said. He stood at the weapons station, hands gripping the edge of the console. "Do it."  
  
Tiny began entering a complex sequence of commands into the _Phoenix_ 's flight computer. Red warning lamps illuminated and Tiny overrode each one. Mark watched him, brows knitting in concern.  
  
G-Force began to brace themselves for the inevitable burn of hyperspatial transition. The star field twisted and shimmered.  
  
“We’ll be dropping back into normal space aft of the enemy ship,” Tiny said. “Then we abort and make a short hop sideways. We’ll have to manoeuvre quickly to avoid being hit. It’s going to be bumpy at best.”  
  
"If anyone can pull it off," Princess said, "it's you, Tiny."  
  
"What she said," Keyop added his support.  
  
"Ready when you are," Mark said.  
  
"Here we go," Tiny said. “Hold on to your seats, everyone.”  
  
The team tensed, then their world caught fire as the _Phoenix_ returned to normal space.  
  
At the weapons console, Jason leaned over the firing controls for the Bird Missiles. His eyes watered. He blinked and focussed. For a moment, he saw normal stars and the bulk of the Crown of Thorns. A bright flash from the alien ship resolved itself into a missile then everything blurred as Tiny aborted re-entry and took them back into hyperspace.  
  
Tiny's fingers danced over the command console.  
  
As the ship effectively dematerialised, a number of things happened within the space of less than half a second: the Spectran missile hit the edge of the hyperspatial transition field and jinked as time and space warped around it. On the perilous and reality-compromised edge of the event horizon, it momentarily existed in both normal space and hyperspace and neither at the same time.  [13]  
  
It did what it was designed to do: it exploded. The shock wave hit as one disintegrating fin sliced into the rear dorsal section of the _Phoenix_.  
  
The ship spun out of control and alarms sounded. Jason was thrown off his feet as the cabin lurched.  
  
“Hull breach aft! The inertial mitigation field’s gone haywire!” Tiny exclaimed as the team clung to their consoles. “We can’t re-enter normal space until it’s back in the green!”  
  
Jason fell heavily against Tiny's seat and something in the vicinity of his left shoulder snapped with a sickening crack, sending new pain lancing through his body. He tried to push himself back up and gasped as his left arm collapsed under him. He turned, rolled and used his right arm to raise himself. Fireworks were exploding in his neck and shoulder and he could hear alarms sounding as he re-established his position at the weapons console.  
  
“Damage report!” Mark snapped.  
  
“Inertial mitigation field went down to ten percent,” Princess reported. “It’s still fluctuating, Keyop, can you bypass the malfunction?"  
  
“On it,” Keyop said.  
  
“G-2, report!” Mark said.  
  
“I’ve got this,” Jason said through clenched teeth.  
  
“IMF’s good to go,” Keyop reported. “I’ve bypassed the damaged section aft. Inertial mitigation’s back within parameters.”  
  
“Not a moment too soon,” Tiny said. “Here we go.”  
  
Through the red haze of pain, Jason was aware of Tiny working frantically at the command station. He pushed the sounds to the back of his awareness and focussed on the main viewer where the star field was already becoming visible again and let his right hand rest over the weapons firing controls.  
  
"The breach is in the jet bay," Princess said. "It’s been isolated. Pressure’s coming back up in adjacent sections.” The star field whirled around them. This time, the _Phoenix_ was on the other side of the Crown of Thorns and the transition was not so much painful as uncomfortable, like biting into hard ice cream for a bare instant. The targeting computer had a lock and Jason opened fire.  
  
The volley of small rockets took out the missile that belatedly headed toward them while the bird missile that followed struck home.  
  
"On my mark, Tiny!" Jason said, his voice tight with pain. “Stand by!” He fired another bird missile. “Missile away! Now!”  
  
The second missile hit the Spectran ship, which blossomed into a flower of icy white flame.  
  
“Target destroyed,” Princess reported.  
  
The star field blurred again and the _Phoenix_ winked out of sight with a sensation like a blow to the funny bone, taken in the stomach, then re-emerged into normal space for the third time to hold position abeam the _Pegasus_ , which was emerging from the Gaian asteroid field.  
  
Jason staggered to his seat and sank into it, grey faced and sweating.  
  
"What happened?" Mark demanded.  
  
"Lost my footing when the inertial mitigator went on vacation for a second," Jason said, smiling wanly. "Feels like I busted my collarbone. Must've hit the chair back at precisely the wrong angle."  
  
"You look terrible," Mark said.  
  
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, skipper."  
  
"Any time. Tiny? You okay?"  
  
Tiny's hands, so sure and deft on the controls, were shaking. There was perspiration beading on his face. "I've never done that before outside of advanced simulations and if I never have to do it again, it'll be too soon."  
  
"You did great, Tiny," Princess said.  
  
"Hot shot!" Keyop declared, punching the air.  
  
Tiny answered an incoming hail from the Pegasus. "This is G-Force. What's your condition, _Pegasus_?"  
  
_"We’re okay,"_ the Captain of the _Pegasus_ reported. _"You've got vapour aft."_  
  
"We collected some shrapnel," Mark said. "Nothing we can't handle."  
  
_"We had you on our scanners. Pretty flashy demonstration of the Schell Manoeuvre,"_ the Captain said. _"Nicely executed."_  
  
"Thanks," Tiny said.  
  
"You'd better make that rendezvous with the _Daedalus_ ," Mark said. "We have an appointment with some more of Zoltar's happiness boys."  
  
_"Good hunting, G-Force,"_ the Captain said. _"Pegasus out."_  
  
"Now that all the testosterone's cleared away," Princess said, "Jason, you're with me."  
  
"Be gentle with me?" Jason said, turning pleading eyes on his colleague.  
  
"Very funny. Come on, tough guy. I want to run a medi-scanner over that clavicle."  
  
"Bet you're jealous," Jason said to Mark as he got to his feet.  
  
"Get yourself to sick bay, Mister Comedian," Mark said. "Let's all take a breather while we can."  
  
"There's one other little problem, Commander," Tiny said. "The damage to the jet bay includes a breach of the plasma reticulation system. We can't go to _Fiery Phoenix_ until we get it fixed."  
  
Mark swallowed. "That's quite a problem," he said. "And you're going to tell me that because of the hull breach, we can't carry out any repairs _en-route_."  
   
"Got it in one," Tiny said.  
  
"I'd better call Anderson. He isn't going to be happy. Princess, take Jason to sick bay and get that shoulder braced."  
  
  
  
  
Veshkanian’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Destroyed?” he echoed.  
  
“Yes, Commander,” Derel said. “We received telemetry from Captain Rajik’s ship indicating that they’d opened fire, then nothing. Our scans have picked up some debris but there’s too much interference from the asteroid field to get high resolution images. We can only surmise that Unit Two has been destroyed. Either the Federation transport was able to destroy it, or there was another ship in the vicinity.”  
  
“The Vice President was travelling aboard the diplomatic courier _Pegasus_ ,” Veshkanian recalled. “That ship has only light armament, and if our scans showed one ship, then there must have been another vessel flying in close formation. Something smaller…”  
  
“The _Phoenix_?” Derel inferred.  
  
“It is the most likely explanation,” Veshkanian said. “Advise Units Three and Four to divert power to the long-range scanners and be on the alert. We cannot allow G-Force to take us by surprise.”  
  
  
  
  
“Make best speed back here, Commander. I’ll have you cleared to land at the spaceport and you can get the repairs done before you go up again to intercept that inbound ship.” Anderson closed the channel and leaned against the back of the chair he was standing behind.  
  
In the doorway, the security officers were murmuring among themselves. A familiar smell reached him and he straightened. "Is that coffee?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Jones said, approaching with a Thermos flask and a cup, which steamed slightly. "Shay's back with some kit from the Embassy. She took pity on you and got the kitchen staff to make up flasks of coffee to keep you going."  
  
Anderson accepted the cup and sipped at it. Coffee didn't improve the situation, but it somehow made it easier to cope. Anderson opened another comm channel.  
  
_"Center Neptune Control, Seven Zark Seven."_  
  
"Zark, I want you to run a full diagnostic on the _Phoenix_ and come up with the fastest possible time for repairs. Your first priority is the hull breach, followed by the plasma reticulation system. If your diagnostic comes up with anything else that could be critical, I want to know as soon as you do."  
  
_"Understood, Chief. I'll commence the diagnostic right away."_  
  
Anderson cut the connection and took another draught of coffee before sinking into the chair. "Al, did all of the medical team leave with the D'Castros?"  
  
"They left Doctor Jensen and a corpsman, sir."  
  
"The _Phoenix_ is on its way back. Have Jensen and the corpsman meet the ship at the spaceport when it touches down and bring G-2 back here for treatment. The _Phoenix_ took some damage defending the _Pegasus_ and Jason’s gone and busted his collarbone."  
  
"Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it. You’re sure you don’t want him taken back to the Embassy?"  
  
"We’ll keep him here with us. I trust Ekeng, and his little pep talk may have won his men over for now but I’d rather have G-2 close by. I want you to arrange a cot in an adjacent office and assign one of your people to stand watch."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
  
  
  
Princess had a channel open to Nerve Centre as the _Phoenix_ was towed into a hangar at the spaceport and staff hurried to meet the ship.  
  
_"I wish I was there to help,"_ Zark said wistfully.  
  
"I appreciate the sentiment," Princess said, "but you're more useful where you are right now, Zark." She had put her helmet aside and wore welders' gloves and a mask while she worked on the damaged fuselage in the rear jet bay of the _Phoenix_.  
  
"The hatch actuators are back on line," Tiny reported, wiping sweat from his brow with a paper towel. "You need a hand?"  
  
"You could direct operations for the work platform set-up outside," Princess suggested. "I'll be done here soon, then I have to start on the outer hull."  
  
"I'll make sure the ceramalloy  [14] welder's set up for you on my way out," Tiny promised.  
  
"Thanks, Tiny."  
  
As the big pilot left the bay, Mark stood aside to let him pass, then made his way inside. His visor filtered out the worst of the welder's flare, but he still looked away. "Keyop’s got the inertial mitigator fixed,” he said. “We blew part of the crystal array, but we’ve got enough spares that he was able to replace them. The plasma conduits are cooling off. We can start working on the system in about five minutes."  
  
"Hull breach first," Princess reminded him, "restoring plasma reticulation is priority two."  
  
"I don't like going up without the option of using _Fiery Phoenix_ , Princess."  
  
"Neither do I, but we can't use it in space for more than a few seconds, anyway." Princess finished a seam and switched the welder off. She removed her visor and studied the weld.  
  
"Is there anything we could rig up?"  
  
"Not without a quality-assured solid oxygen supply and at least half a day to do the job, Commander." Princess packed the welder up. "I have to go see to the outer hull and I'm racing the clock."  
  
"Understood. You need a hand with anything else?"  
  
"You and Keyop could pull the access panels for me, and I can get to work on the plasma circuitry as soon as I've got the outer hull welded. Thank heaven it was only a twenty-centimetre breach."  
  
"But through two layers of reinforced ceramic titanium alloy composite and two more of hardened aluminium."  
  
"I noticed that," Princess said with a smile. "Here." She bent and tossed something to him.  
  
He caught it in one hand. It was a twisted shard of metal about five centimetres long with badly damaged red ceramic coating. "This is what did all the damage?"  
  
"What's left of it," Princess said. "Fin fragment off a Spectra rocket. Hang on to it. The guys and gals in the Special Projects Lab are probably going to want to play with it when we get home."  
  
  
  
  
The cot supplied by the Gaians had been too short for Jason so Jones had pushed desks together and laid a couple of mattresses on top to make a relatively comfortable bed. Although his inclination was to tough out the pain, Jason was well aware that the best thing he could do was to sleep. The repair nanites that made up part of his cerebonic implant system would do their best work if he was resting, and the harder the nanites worked, the better his chances of being able to re-join the fight. There were pillows under his shoulders and another one supporting his left arm, which had been set in a live-tech brace that supported and immobilised the fractured collarbone. The restriction irritated him, but it was better than feeling the ends of the broken bone grinding together.  
  
He meditated, slowing his breathing and trying to clear his mind. Over near the window, Fran Patrick was perched on a workstation desk, watching him with concern shadowing her cornflower blue eyes.  
  
Jason wondered if Fran had asked for the assignment, and if so, had Lieutenant Colonel Jones argued against it?  
  
His eyes drifted shut and he dozed.  
  
  
  
  
When Jason woke up, it was to the sound of murmuring voices.  
  
“Sorry, sir,” Jones said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”  
  
“I’m a light sleeper,” Jason said. “What’s the word?” He blinked. Jones was wearing Galaxy Security battle dress: form-fitting trousers and jacket made with built-in body armour. It wasn’t as light and flexible (or expensive) as a G-Force battle suit, but it afforded far more protection than a day uniform. Jones had a standard issue sidearm holstered at each thigh and she was carrying a large khaki duffel bag over one shoulder. “And since when did you start wearing combat gear on a diplomatic mission?”  
  
“Oh,” Jones made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “There was always a risk that we might find ourselves at the pointy end of something, so I packed for the weather.”  
  
“Did you bring enough for everyone?” Jason asked.  
  
“Of course I did, sir,” Jones said. She handed the duffel bag she was holding to Fran Patrick, who was still in her day uniform. “Get kitted up, Lieutenant.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am!” Fran hurried away to find somewhere to change.  
  
“So,” Jason said. “Bring me up to speed.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Jones said. “The Spectrans are about two hours away. The _Phoenix_ is undergoing repairs and the Chief’s still trying to find a solution to the shield hack.”  
  
“He’s not evacuating to the Embassy?” Jason asked.  
  
Jones shook her head. “I’ve had that discussion with him already,” she said. “If you think he’ll listen to you –”  
  
“Yeah, right!” Jason let out his breath in a huff. "He's a stubborn, mule-headed..."  
  
"Obstinate," Jones offered.  
  
"Wilful," Jason added.  
  
"Impossible."  
  
"Arrogant."  
  
"Frustrating."  
  
"Shit head," Jason concluded.  
  
"I'm blonde," Jones said. "What's your excuse?"  
  
"I'm plain old-fashioned stubborn," Jason chuckled. "If we can't stop him, we'll just have to do our best to keep him from killing himself. Can you get me a map of the complex?"  
  
"But, sir, you're injured!"  
  
"I'm mobile, I'm recovering, and I'm trained in xenotechnology. I'm not the super whiz kid Princess is but I can hold my own and this planet needs all the help it can get." He grinned. "At least I'm not short help," he quipped. "And, Al?" he added, as the security officer began to walk away.  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"Quit calling me, 'sir.' It's what you call the Chief."  
  
"But you’re G-2. What am I supposed to call you?"  
  
"I have a name. The world won't come to an end if you use it."  
  
"All right, Jason, but this poor world may well come to an end regardless of what we do."  
  
"Well, let's make it our business to keep that from happening."  
  
  
  
  
“…Completely non-responsive,” the duty technician said. “We’ve lost control of the planetary shield.”  
  
The control centre was unnaturally quiet. Jason looked around and saw frightened technical staff staring helplessly at their screens.  
  
“Have all personnel take shelter,” Captain Ekeng ordered. He turned to Irin. “You’d best advise the Prime Minister that the shield is coming down.”  
  
Jason followed Jones to a spot out of the way in one corner. He watched as she spoke quietly into her comm unit. Fran Patrick entered the room and joined them.  
  
“It’s happening?” she asked.  
  
“It is,” Jones said.  
  
  
  
  
Commander Veshkanian had brought Larian Tche-Ka to the bridge of the Crown of Thorns command ship to oversee his triumph.  
  
“The shield is down, Commander,” the Gaian reported. “May the Goddess forgive me.”  
  
“There is nothing to forgive,” Veshkanian said, a little more harshly than he had intended. “You are helping your people, Tche-Ka, even if they do not yet realise it.” He turned to Derel. “Launch fighters.”  
  
“Fighter control, launch all squadrons,” Derel ordered, then listened to something on a comm channel. “Commander, Units Three and Four report an attack group inbound. It looks like the ISO Space Patrol.”  
  
“So,” Veshkanian said, “our Gaians have thrown in their lot with the Federation after all. Tell Captain Ennar that he is in charge and may respond at his discretion. We will continue our attack on the Gaian mother world. Target the planetary shield installation and make best speed.” He spared a glance at Larian Tche-Ka. “Do not worry, my friend. We will not attack your cities. Once we have the shield installation we will ask your King to surrender. I am sure he and his grandmother will see sense.”  
  
The spines on the Crown of Thorns began to detach as the fighters launched. Sleek black attack ships arced away in tight formations and passed with impunity where the planetary shield should have been. They dropped into the lower atmosphere, found their target and homed in.  
  
  
  
  
“Here they come,” Captain Ekeng said.  
  
“Hold tight, everyone,” Jones told her team via the comm. “The first wave’s inbound.”  
  
“ _Let’s just hope these guys know how to build a decent bunker_ ,” Shay Alban’s reply sounded in Jones’ earpiece. “ _Having the roof fall in on me isn’t on my list of things to do today._ ”  
  
The screen in the control centre displayed wave after wave of fighters attacking the base. They strafed the tower, and when the force field held, they broadened their attack to include the other buildings.  
  
Jason remained at the back of the room, leaning against the wall. His hands clenched into fists and the nanotech brace tightened in response. He forced himself to relax his left arm and felt the brace ease up on the tension.  
  
Iringalara Haa had gone pale, her breathing shallow as she fought down panic.  
  
“They’re going to keep this up until they bring that tower down,” Anderson observed. “You could probably save everyone a lot of trouble by switching the force field off and letting them have what they want.”  
  
“Are you crazy?” Jason burst out. “How can we get the shield back up if the tower’s destroyed?”  
  
“I’m guessing,” Anderson said, “that the great and powerful Oz out there is mostly smoke and mirrors. It’s what my esteemed security coordinator might refer to as a giant ‘thingy.’”  
  
Iringalara Haa squared her shoulders. Her voice shook when she spoke. "Some ninety years ago there was a period of civil unrest on our world. Violent protest groups threatened to bring down the planetary shields as an ill-thought-out way of forcing Gaia to participate in the greater galactic community. The government of the day put it out that the shields would be strengthened and fortified in response, and the great tower was built. It is visible and impressive, a mighty symbol of Gaia's protection, and it is nothing more than a decoy. The real shield generator is in Building Seventeen. Only a few senior specialists know about it, and the unfortunate Larian Tche-Ka was not among them." The diminutive official folded her arms. "It was most astute of you to deduce this."  
  
"It was what I would have done," Anderson said.  
  
"You did do it," Jason recalled. "On Planet Mir, you --"  
  
"Yes," Anderson said, forestalling elaboration. "What’s it going to be, Irin?"  
  
“Minister?” Captain Ekeng prompted. “If the Spectrans follow their previous attack patterns, once the tower is down, they will send in troops to secure the facility. I cannot in all conscience recommend that we surrender with you here. There is a tunnel system three levels further down. One of the tunnels leads away from the base. I recommend that you and your bodyguards take it.”  
  
“No,” Irin said, lifting her chin. “I will remain here.”  
  
“We should probably relocate,” Anderson said. “They’ll come for the control centre. They want the technology.”  
  
“Which is why,” Jason said, “we should keep the tower’s force field on to buy us enough time to steer ‘em into a trap.”  
  
“Go on, Jason,” Anderson said. “I’m listening.”  
  
  
  
  
Veshkanian's hands gripped the armrests of his command chair, his body quivering with triumph. "We have it!" he declared. "The shield installation is almost ours! Lord Zoltar will be most pleased. Not only will we deliver up the Gaian home world but also their vaunted shield technology! And in the very faces of G-Force! What a day this is!" He took a deep breath. “Derel, what news of the rest of the battle group? And where is G-Force?”  
  
“Captain Ennar reports that he has taken light losses,” Derel said. “Units Three and Four continue to engage the Patrol fighters. Of G-Force there is no sign.”  
  
“Where could they be?” Veshkanian wondered. “Continue to scan for their ship.”  
  
  
  
  
“Control has been transferred to the emergency room,” Captain Ekeng said. “Everyone out of the control room and get to the shelter.” He turned to Security Chief Anderson. “As you see, we can continue to operate with minimal staff for the time being. Thus far Building Seventeen has sustained only light damage. The internal force fields are holding while the Spectrans focus on the tower. We should go.”  
  
Ekeng led his small group out of the control room and down another level. A smaller version of the control room was already manned by a handful of technicians. “There are a few empty offices in this corridor that you can use,” he told Anderson. “Minister, are you quite certain I cannot persuade you to evacuate?”  
  
“You cannot,” Irin said. “I am with you to the end, Captain.”  
  
Anderson glanced up as three of his security officers entered the room. He straightened and stared as he realised – belatedly - that they were not only wearing full combat gear, they were also carrying assault rifles. Jones, her features appearing oddly incongruous under a helmet, was carrying a duffel bag.  
  
"What the hell --" he started to say.  
  
"I brought some extra equipment along," Jones explained. "Technically, _Pegasus_ has the same status as a diplomatic pouch, you see."  
  
"So you packed armoured battle dress and weapons."  
  
"Call me paranoid," Jones said, "but I had the quartermaster issue gear in your size. I had a nasty feeling you might need it." She tossed the duffel at Anderson's chest and he caught it in both arms. "It was a contingency, in case we had to fight our way somewhere or hide you in amongst the troops. Since you're bound and determined to stay, you can bloody well get kitted up properly, _General_."  
  
Grinning, Shay Alban stepped forward and balanced a rifle on top of the duffel, then tucked a bundle of spare clips under Anderson’s left elbow. "There you go, General. Standard issue LX-12 and four clips. It ain't loaded, so you might want to see to your weapon as soon as you're changed. Let me know if you need a hand."  
  
Anderson stared at the three officers. They stared back.  
  
"If this is a tactic to get me to change my mind, it isn’t working," Anderson said.  
  
"I think I'm over trying to get you to change your mind," Jones said. "At least you've got some combat experience which I trust you'll use if it comes to it. I'm leaving Lieutenants Rossi and Patrick with you. We'll be on comm channel three with the scrambler activated for G-Sec talk around. Zark's reconfigured channel four so that we can talk with the Gaians. Jason, we could use an expert consultant if you don't mind briefing the locals."  
  
"Count me in," Jason said.  
  
Anderson put his burden down on the desk. "Hold up a second. What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.  
  
Jones spread her arms in a gesture that took in the situation. "I’m being proactive, sir," she said.  
  
"This isn’t the time to get cryptic, Al," Anderson said.  
  
“We’re about to come under attack, sir,” Jones said, “and the Gaians here have a combined total of absolutely no combat experience. Guarding the shield facility is meant to be a cushy assignment! Their best people are light years away trying – and failing – to defend the colonies. If we sit here and wait to be attacked, we’ll engage the enemy on their terms. I’d much rather engage them on ours. Nobody ever won a chess match by cramming all their pieces into the back row and refusing to move, you know.”  
  
“I hate it when you make sense,” Anderson said. “I take it you expect me to hide down here and behave myself?”  
  
"Well, if we don't manage to stop the Spectrans out there, they'll be on the doorstep and we'll all be earning combat pay whether we like it or not." She turned to Giovanni Rossi. "Don't let him do anything heroic, Lieutenant."  
  
"Let me go, boss," Rossi said. "You stay here. I'm a good shot."  
  
"That's why I need you here, Nino," Jones said. "If the enemy gets past us, you're going to have to make every round count."  
  
"Understood, sir," Rossi said. "You can count on me."  
  
“Al, are you sure you’ve thought this through?” Anderson asked.  
  
"I'm afraid I have, sir," Jones said. “All that stands between the Spectrans and this control room right now is my squad and about twenty Gaians who've never killed anything that could shoot back."  
  
“How are you planning on deploying our assets?”  
  
“I’m leaving Rossi and Patrick here with you. I’ve stationed Lieutenants Cho and Alvarez on the floor above. There’s a spot by the stairs that makes for an ideal choke point. They should be able to hold off a small army – which I hope they won’t have to do, since the rest of us are going to put up as much resistance as we can in the hope of making Zoltar’s small army a lot smaller.”  
  
Anderson nodded. "Good luck, Colonel."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
"Just see that you come back alive and in one piece."  
  
"When I do, I'd better find you in the same state, or I'll have something to say about it. Nino, find a place for the Chief to get changed and don’t let him out until he’s in full kit. Make sure you double-check his weapon. Then check it again." Jones turned and walked out of the room with Shay Alban at her heels. Jason followed and shut the door behind him.  
  
Shay Alban took a deep breath and let it out as they walked down the corridor. "This is like Riga all over again, isn't it?"  
  
"At least this time we've got some warning and an idea of what to expect," Jones said. "We can do this. Besides, we've got a secret weapon."  
  
"We do?"  
  
"We do. We've got Jason. He makes a habit of spoiling Zoltar's plans and the Spectrans don't know we've got him."  
  
Jason felt obliged to speak up. "Hey, Al, uh, don't forget I'm not firing on all cylinders right now, okay? And I'm not exactly a magic bullet, y'know."  
  
"It doesn't matter," Jones said. "You're G-2. Our people believe in you. To the Gaians, you look like a demigod, and the Spectrans are terrified of you. When they see you, their morale's going to go right down the proverbial toilet. Just… just try and hide that sling under your cape, all right?"  
  
The group rounded a corner and Jason was ushered into a briefing room where the rest of the G-Sec protection detail was waiting with the Gaian security personnel, a mix of emerald and midnight blue uniforms. Most of the Gaian security officers were relatively tall, standing at shoulder height or better compared with Jones’ troops.  
  
As Jason, Jones and Alban approached, both squads snapped to attention. Jason tossed off a mocking salute.  
  
A senior officer stepped forward to address Jones. "Lieutenant Colonel, I am Captain Menk. My men and I stand ready to defend this installation against our mutual enemy. I would appreciate any information you can provide regarding the Spectran forces."  
  
"Of course." Jones regarded the group -- nine of her own staff and eighteen Gaians -- with an appraising gaze. "At ease, everyone." She waited a moment for the officers to settle. "Sir," she nodded to Jason. "You're the expert, here."  
  
"Yeah, but I get stage fright." Jason would have squared his shoulders but was painfully aware that it wouldn't work with one of them out of commission. Instead he raised his head and swept the room with the most imperious and hawklike glare he could muster. "Okay. Spectrans 101: previous experience has shown us that the Spectrans tend to rely on sheer numbers and terror machines to overwhelm their opponents. Their ships are often impregnable to conventional weapons fire. The only point of vulnerability in terms of what we have available to us is the human factor. Their soldiers aren't strong on tactics, teamwork, discipline or leadership on the ground, so if we can engage them on our terms and out-think them, we have a chance. If we want to be effective, we have to try to avoid the ship and tackle the men. If we go up against the ship, we'll be nothing but cannon fodder and we might as well not bother. If they wanted to destroy this base, they could have done so by now. They’re mostly hitting the tower and leaving the buildings pretty much alone. They must be trying to capture rather than raze the place. That means there must be something here that they want. They're going to have to send troops in to accomplish that."  
  
  
"On the colony worlds," Menk said, "our people destroyed the shield control centres rather than allow them to fall into enemy hands. Spectra must want the shield technology. To get it, they will have to get inside the engineering complex above us and reach the control centre."  
  
"Okay,” Jason said. “If we can block access to the control centre, we can possibly re-route them to a location that suits us. Can I see a map?" Jones held out her palm unit, whose holo projector displayed a map of the base. "Too easy," Jason decided. "We'd have to..." He gave the Gaian officer an inquiring glance and stabbed a gloved finger at a spot on the map. "We could force them _here_ with a little creative demolition," he said.  
  
Menk took a deep breath. "We have few choices." He gestured to one of his men, who stepped forward. "Corporal Jiran is trained in bomb disposal and anti-terrorism. He understands explosives. Given enough time, he can place charges and block off areas of the engineering section. He will need assistance, however."  
  
"I've done a little work with explosives," Jason said, smiling. It wasn't a pleasant smile.  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  1. Named after Admiral Veronica “Ronnie” Schell, who first used it in combat against a hostile Urgosian corsair. Don’t try this at home.
  2. Effectively rendering it a sort of multi-dimensional Schrödinger’s Missile for a very brief moment. No cats were harmed.
  3. Ceramalloy – as the name suggests, ceramalloy is **ceram** ic/metal **alloy** No idea how it’s produced. It’s sufficiently advanced technology. The hull of the _Phoenix_ and the bodies of the individual G-Force vehicles are made of a high grade mix of lightweight ceramic and titanium alloy which is incredibly strong and extremely heat-resistant. The properties of ceramalloy are such that it came as a big surprise to the team back in _Ace From Outer Space_ when Captain Doom was able to take the tailfin off the _Phoenix_ like he was slicing cheese. The Spectran missile might not have done as much damage if the explosion hadn’t happened right on the event horizon of the warp field where reality gets a bit spacey-wacey  [15]. Repairing ceramalloy is problematic due to its properties so you need equipment specific not only to ceramalloy but the specific _kind_ of ceramalloy you’re dealing with. The ceramalloy welders used on regular starships – even military ones – wouldn’t work on the _Phoenix_. She has her own custom ceramalloy welding units which are kept at Center Neptune, Camp Parker, Seahorse Base and a small one aboard ship for running repairs which was added to the ship’s complement after the events of _Ace From Outer Space._ It should be noted that I am aware that pure titanium cannot be welded or soldered using the technology _currently available_ to us, so I’m saying that it’s an alloy and I’m calling the rule of Applied Phlebotinum.
  4. The Eleventh Doctor: “ _Well, actually it’s because the Time Lords discovered that if you take an eleventh-dimensional matrix and fold it into a mechanical... Yes, it's spacey-wacey!”_ Also, given that in canon they call it, ‘Time Warp’  [16] It could also have been timey-wimey. And wibbly-wobbly.
  5. It’s _not_ just a jump to the left, honest. It’s a lot more complicated than that and pelvic thrusting is in no way involved. Unless it’s quantum. Because… sciencey-wiency.



 


	8. One! Two! One! Two! And Through and Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason lays a trap for the Spectrans. Ordnance is exchanged.

The final explosion shook the base and the perpetrators waited for the dust to clear before taking their hands from their ears and surveying their handiwork. Above, the Spectran fighters continued their attack on the great tower.  
  
"Impressive precision," Jones remarked.  
  
"That's nothing," Jason said. "Princess is the one who's turned demolition into an art form." He swayed slightly and Jones caught his good arm. He shook free and glared at her.  
  
"You should head back and rest," Jones said. “All of this activity can’t be helping your injury.”  
  
"There’s a live-tech support brace on it. It’s holding well,” Jason insisted, "and you’d be amazed how quickly I can heal up – although if I told you, I’d have to kill you."  
  
"You're as stubborn as he is," Jones muttered.  
  
"Nobody's _that_ stubborn,” Jason said.  
  
“You should return to the emergency control centre,” Jones said. “You’ll get a better overview from there and you can give us tactical advice on the encrypted channel. Do you need an escort?”  
  
“No,” Jason said. “I don’t.”  
  
“Pity. I placed a call to Lieutenant Patrick a few minutes ago to come and fetch you. Here she is now.”  
  
Fran Patrick approached and saluted her superiors.  
  
"Lieutenant Patrick," Jones said, "please escort G-2 back to the emergency control centre, then see that he remains there with Security Chief Anderson."  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” Patrick said. "Where do you want me to deploy after that, ma'am?"  
  
"You'll remain on station with Lieutenant Rossi," Jones said.  
  
"You need me here," the younger woman insisted.  
  
"I need you where I've told you to go, Lieutenant." Jones said. "Dismissed." She fixed her subordinate with an ice-pick stare until Patrick averted her gaze and obeyed.  
  
Jason turned to go. "Come on, Fran, let's see how they're doing with the shield systems."  
  
"Right," Patrick said, her voice sullen.  
  
"It's not all bad," Jason said. "You're in the best possible company."  
  
Shay Alban waited for the two young people to vanish down the corridor into the emergency-lit depths of the lower levels. "You're going soft, Al," she accused with a smile.  
  
Jones didn't react. "Deploy the squads." She said and sighed. "Chocolate," she muttered. "What I wouldn't give for chocolate."  
  
"I think I've got a Hershey Bar here somewhere," Alban suggested, patting her pockets.  
  
"Not that stuff," Jones said. Her tone conveyed the depths of contempt in which she held compound chocolate. "I mean _real_ chocolate. Belgian chocolate, the kind that's like slowly melting silk, the kind that makes you wonder if sex really is as good as you remember."  
  
Alban shrugged. "Either I need to know where you buy your chocolate or you need to get out more, and knowing you, it’s probably that you need to get out more. A _lot_."  
  
  
  
  
Veshkanian surveyed the landscape on the main view screen. The great tower lay in ruins, blackened and smoking in the centre of the complex. A thin plume of smoke trailed disconsolately from the engineering building. "I distinctly recall telling our pilots not to destroy the control centre!" he snapped.  
  
"According to the logs, nobody has," Derel reported. “There were minimal strikes on other buildings in the hope of hitting the force field generator, but the engineering building was left alone, as per your orders.”  
  
Veshkanian considered, one hand to his chin. "You do not think the Gaians would have a self-destruct in place, surely?"  
  
"Not according to our intelligence," Derel said, "but desperation may drive men to extreme measures." He called up data on the view screen and studied it for a moment. "Our scanners cannot detect any significant energy readings," he reported. "Their emergency power plant is operating within normal tolerances. Whatever it is we’re seeing, Commander, it doesn’t appear to be the result of a self-destruct sequence. The Gaians are probably trying to destroy the control centre by laying charges and it looks as though they’ve botched it."  
  
"Very well. Continue the approach," Veshkanian decided. "We shall soon see what the Gaians are up to."  
  
Veshkanian rose up out of his chair. "Let us take possession of the shield facility for the glory of Spectra. Ready the landing craft and have the men prepare to move out."  
  
Veshkanian's order was relayed through the ship and the soldiers scrambled to get to the shuttles.  
  
“Have my shuttle prepared as well,” Veshkanian said. “I would like to be there for our moment of triumph.”  
  
  
  
  
Ing and Harek had finally been released from duty guarding the Gaian engineer and had been nominated as advance scouts. For his part, Ing suspected that this was because Sergeant Ern wanted them killed. Harek, however, clung to his belief that the two of them were actually good for something, and this might turn out to be it.  
  
"You've got ignots for brains, Harek," Ing grumbled, hunching his skinny shoulders and scratching the itch at the end of his long nose.  
  
"You're always so cynical," Harek said. "Don't you ever think our luck might change?"  
  
"Has it ever shown any signs of doing so?" Ing demanded. "Everywhere we go, everything we do, we have bad luck. Why should this be any different? We'll end up in prison again, and this is Gaia, so we'll finish up dying of brain injuries from hitting our heads on the ceiling."  
  
"Ing," Harek said, "does it ever occur to you that we're still alive?"  
  
"What kind of a question is that, you great lump?" Ing snarled.  
  
Harek blinked at his friend from behind his mask. "Well," he reasoned, "with all the stuff that happens to us, maybe the fact that we've survived at all is actually _good_ luck."  
  
"Good luck?" Ing echoed. " _Good luck_?" He swatted the back of Harek's head, dislodging the stocky man's mask so that it fell forward over his face. "The only reason we're alive is because the gods haven't exhausted all the possibilities, yet! They've still got more bad luck to send us, you idiot! We should never have gone to that temple with Frome. If he hadn't stolen that gold idol, we wouldn't have been cursed and we might have had half a chance to live ordinary lives!"  
  
"We didn't die, though," Harek pointed out.  
  
"Frome did! And what a way to go," Ing recalled, shuddering.  
  
"It was a freak accident," Harek said.  
  
"Accident, my eye," Ing growled. "Only the gods would inflict that kind of a punishment on a man..."  
  
"Scouts! Front and centre!" Sergeant Ern barked.  
  
"Coming, Sarge!" Harek called, and bustled forward, taking Ing with him.  
  
"Quit shoving!" Ing snapped.  
  
  
  
  
The base auditorium was large enough for Jason’s plan and the Gaians had done as they were told without complaint. Jones suspected that most of them were working on automatic pilot, following orders because they’d been trained to do so. Nearly all of them wore the same glazed, stricken expression that comes from having the certainties of a lifetime ripped mercilessly away.  
  
There was no time to spend on pity, however. Hopefully there would be time enough for that if they survived. Jones opened a channel on her comm. “Comms check,” she said. “Team one is in position. Team two, report.”  
  
  
  
  
"This shield should never have fallen," the technician said again. "It is more complicated than the others, it is older..." She shook her head and stifled a sob.  
  
Anderson regarded her with some sympathy. The small brunette woman showed all the signs of being in shock.  
  
"But it _has_ fallen," he said as gently as possible, "and we have to try and find out how it happened. I don't know enough about the shields to draw a conclusion, yet. I need your help."  
  
The technician mustered her strength. "Of course," she said. "When the attack commenced, it seemed that we had lost control of the shields. The control consoles stopped responding to our input and the communication systems were jammed."  
  
"The shields allow waveforms through at certain frequencies and power levels," the male technician said, moving forward. "This lets us communicate, but prevents a focussed beam weapon from getting through. If the system detects a beam attack, it changes configuration and reduces the tolerance. The shield should not have allowed a signal strong enough to override our control to get through."  
  
"But it did," the female technician moaned, "and now we are lost."  
  
"What happened," Anderson asked, "to prevent the shield blocking the transmission?"  
  
"I do not know," the male technician confessed. "I cannot find any system fault in the logs which might account for it."  
  
"Could someone have logged -- or hacked -- in using a maintenance channel and gained access in any way to modify the programme?"  
  
All the Gaians went quiet and no-one offered a reply. After a long moment, it was Irin who spoke: "You suggest there is a traitor among us?"  
  
"I suggest," Anderson said, fixing Irin with a look, "that you have a missing senior shield engineer and that Zoltar employs any number of highly skilled torturers."  
  
The technicians turned to Irin, mouths agape.  
  
"It is a possibility," Irin said, her features taut with strain.  
  
"What we need," Anderson muttered, "is a system security specialist."  
  
"We evacuated everyone except for essential personnel," Irin said. "We could recall a security specialist from the city, but how will we get them here in time?"  
  
"We don't," Anderson said. He eased himself into a chair, uncomfortable with the lack of height above floor level. "We'll just have to make do with what we've got." He keyed a code on his palm unit. "Zark," he said, "I have a job for you."  
  
  
  
  
Ing and Harek had made slow and extremely nervous progress from building to building, darting across open spaces and huddling under walls and overhangs.  
  
"You just wait," Ing said. "Any minute, now, our lives will end in a hail of gunfire."  
  
"I thought you said the gods were keeping us alive to punish us more," Harek said, puzzled.  
  
"You don't think a hail of gunfire constitutes punishment?"  
  
"Well, yes, but... I thought you said they wanted us to suffer."  
  
"You think you won't suffer under a hail of gunfire?"  
  
"Not for very long, Ing."  
  
"Harek, _shut up_."  
  
There was smoke trickling out of the entrance to the engineering building. Inside, an emergency exit light flickered brokenly.  
  
"That doesn't look good," Harek said.  
  
"At last," Ing muttered, "we agree on something." He adjusted his grip on his rifle. "Cover me."  
  
Harek readied his own weapon and Ing scuttled forward until he was able to duck down behind a parked vehicle then very carefully peered over the top at the entrance.  
  
Nothing moved, save for the slow ribbon of smoke rising up from the doorway.  
  
Ing moved again, crouching low and dashing inside, half expecting to meet his death in the proverbial hail of gunfire.  
  
The lobby was deserted.  
  
It was also wrecked. Ing hadn't been provided with a flashlight, so he peered into the gloom and edged forward. He checked behind the reception counter and in the rubble, satisfied himself that he was alone, then returned to the door and waved for Harek to join him.  
  
"Why would they blow up their own base?" Harek wondered. "If this is a self-destruct, they're not much good at it."  
  
"Who knows?" Ing said. "The Gaians aren't very bright when it comes to warfare. Not like us Spectrans." He surveyed the lobby. "Look over there!"  
  
"What? Is it loot?"  
  
"No! It looks like a doorway. Help me get it clear."  
  
The two men moved a fallen office chair and opened the fire escape door. The stairs led to the upper floors, and a second door apparently led to the lower levels. Ing tried the door. It opened half way, then stuck against something.  
  
"It looks like some kind of barricade," Harek observed.  
  
Ing scratched his nose thoughtfully, then stroked his moustache back in place. "You know what?" he said. "It _is_ a barricade. Those stupid Gaians think they can keep us from the control centre. Start clearing that stuff away while I radio back to the Sarge."  
  
  
  
  
"Looks like you two finally did something right," Sergeant Ern said, glowering at the newly cleared basement access. He turned to Veshkanian, whose angular form made a darkly elegant silhouette in the shadowy stairwell. "It appears that we can reach the shelters and the emergency control centre by way of a service tunnel at the rear of the auditorium, Commander."  
  
"Well done," Veshkanian said. He glanced at the very short man in ill-fitting Spectran fatigues who stood dejectedly by his side. "We will, of course," he said, "take the facility with a minimum of bloodshed. Move the men out, Sergeant Ern."  
  
Ern turned to the assembled troops. They filled the lobby and spilled out onto the terrace. "Right, you men!" he barked. "Let's move!"  
  
Fired up with success and praise, Ing and Harek surged forward at the head of the advance party.  
  
"Finally," Ing muttered, "our luck's changing!"  
  
The corridor was dimly lit with the faint blue glow of emergency lighting. The advance party moved forward, following the scouts.  
  
  
  
  
It took all of Alberta Jones' self-discipline to keep from shaking as she sighted down the barrel of the rifle. Protective services officers stood between targets and bullets, she reminded herself, but they weren't usually _the_ targets, as such. When protection officers came under fire, it was an incidental, impersonal thing. Protection staff didn't go into battle with intent. Throughout Jones' career, she had exchanged live fire on a handful of occasions, each time responding to an attack, each incident a brief, intense fight for survival with little time for thought and even less for fear. The attack on Riga had been the exception and then, as now, the waiting had been the worst part. The actual battle had been fast, frantic and focussed. Once it had started, the fear had evaporated in an adrenaline flood and Jones’ training had taken over.  
  
Now she felt the terror of anticipation coursing through her body, and wished the Spectrans would get on with it so she could either kill or be killed and get it over with. Not being killed was her preferred option, however.  
  
She tensed as she detected movement in the passageway ahead. "Hold your fire," she murmured into her comm. She kept her own breathing quiet and steady as she listened to the soft sounds of people twitching slightly and adjusting their posture.  
  
"Wish they'd hurry up and make a goddamned move," Falcone muttered.  
  
"That makes all of us," Alban growled.  
  
"Quiet," Jones ordered softly, and silently marvelled at how icily calm her own voice sounded. Down the scope of the rifle, she could make out a humanoid shape peering into the gloom that concealed the base's defenders. She hoped he wasn't utilising any kind of infra-red equipment that would let him detect the ambush. When the shape edged forward, followed by another one, she deduced that he wasn't.  
  
The shapes walked cautiously down the corridor. Jones could see them focussing on the battery-powered 'Exit' sign Corporal Jiran had left intact at the back of the room.  
  
The two shapes stopped and conferred briefly.  
  
"Seems quiet enough," Ing said. "Go get the Sarge."  
  
"This room should be bigger," Harek said, squinting at the shadows.  
  
"What are you babbling about now?" Ing exclaimed. "How would you know how big a room is supposed to be? Go get Sergeant Ern, you idiot."  
  
"It just feels like it ought to be bigger," Harek grumbled, and slunk away.  
  
This left Ing standing alone in the middle of the auditorium with his rifle and the dying flashlight Sergeant Ern had begrudgingly given him. Confident with his success thus far, Ing sauntered to the back of the room, considered the 'Exit' light and tried the door handle. The door swung open and he shone the ineffectual beam of the flashlight into the corridor beyond.  
  
Ing walked a short distance down the corridor, then retraced his steps. The sound of marching feet echoed through the room. Ing hurried back to meet up with Harek and the rest of the Spectran force.  
  
"All clear further down the corridor, Sarge," Ing reported.  
  
"Good," Ern said.  
  
Ing led the way to the exit and opened the door -- at least, he tried to, and staggered as his hand slipped off the now-securely-locked door handle. "What...?"  
  
The room was a labyrinth of red targeting laser beams, all of them trained on the invading Spectrans.  
  
"Put your weapons down and stand with your hands in the air!" a female voice snapped.  
  
"I knew it!" Ing wailed. "It was too good to last!"  
  
  
  
  
"They did it," Fran Patrick breathed, listening to the radio chatter on her comm. "They actually did it! Without firing a single shot!"  
  
"Way to go," Nino Rossi agreed, grinning.  
  
"And I wasn't there," Patrick said darkly.  
  
  
  
  
At the rear of the group of Spectrans, Larian Tche-Ka froze in terror. A hand closed painfully around his upper arm and pulled him to the floor.  
  
Another hand covered his mouth and a familiar voice whispered, "Do not make a sound, my friend, or I will kill you myself."  
  
Tche-Ka was dragged through the gloom. Veshkanian, who had his arm in what felt like a death grip, was bellying away from the main body of soldiers who had dropped their weapons and surrendered. When he was finally hauled up against what felt like stairs, Tche-Ka dared to look around and realised he was part of a group, and he was not against stairs but against a pile of rubble behind what had been the main reception area of the engineering building. He took a breath to ask a question and Veshkanian clapped a hand over his mouth. The gloved hand was covered in dirt and Tche-Ka choked silently. The pressure relaxed enough for him to breathe through his nose and he remained motionless while he heard the sounds of soldiers being rounded up and herded away. He strained his ears for the sound of gunfire, but none eventuated.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, Veshkanian got to his feet and brushed dirt off his uniform.  
  
"Commander," Derel murmured, "there appear to be twelve of us: Lieutenants Oren and Ghatrek, Sergeant Fenn, Corporal Birin, Privates Pistol, Nim, Brana, Jakibi and Micsuini, [17] the Gaian and ourselves."  
  
"We must make good our escape and return to the command ship," Veshkanian decided. "Once we are in a position of strength, we will see how these pitiful defenders fare."  
  
  
  
  
“Zark’s analysis,” Anderson said, “shows that the shield is still operational but under the control of the Spectrans thanks to that interference signal. That means if _they_ can hijack the shield, _we_ can hijack it right back.”  
  
Irin spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But then the Spectrans will simply wrest control back from us! They already know how to do it.”  
  
“Not if we drop another firewall in and keep modifying it using one of the most powerful artificial intelligence units in the galaxy,” Anderson said.  
  
“You have such an intelligence?” Irin asked.  
  
“Yes, and his resources can be diverted for as long as it takes to get the Spectrans out of town. After that we’ll need to look at a more permanent solution.”  
  
“Can we really drive off all three of the enemy ships?” Captain Ekeng asked.  
  
“The Patrol’s engaging two of them,” Anderson said, “but they’ll have to break off soon or they’ll risk running out of fuel. The _Deadalus_ is returning to Gaian space as we speak but she’s not equipped to deal with that many fighters at once. The _Phoenix_ is undergoing repairs and should be spaceworthy again soon.”  
  
“You almost make me think that we might be saved,” Irin said.  
  
  
  
  
“Damn and blast!” Jones spat angrily. “Twelve of them! How did we miss twelve of them?”  
  
“Look on the bright side,” Alban said. “At least we know they’re out there. If those soldiers hadn’t assumed that none of us speak Spectran we could have been in real trouble!”  
  
“Tell Rossi and Patrick to be on alert,” Jones said. “I want Cho and Alvarez to hold station on the floor above the Emergency Centre. Richards and Yelchin, go and reinforce them. Maxwell: you and Bairstow have charge of the prisoners. Keep the Gaians sharp. Shay, once Thorne’s dragged Falcone out of whatever corner he’s lurking in and made him put his bloody cigarette out, you and the lads are with me. I’m going to find Captain Menk, then we’re going hunting.”  
  
  
  
  
“They’re _what_?” Jason exclaimed.  
  
“You heard,” Anderson said, frowning.  
  
“Not without me they aren’t,” Jason said.  
  
“Are you sure you’re up for it?” Anderson asked.  
  
“As long as nobody punches me in the shoulder, I should be okay. I don’t have full range of movement, but there’s no pain and the dizziness from the drugs has worn off. I’m good, and if I can help keep our people safe and catch some Spectrans, I can handle a few twinges.”  
  
“Take me with you!” Fran said, stepping forward, her eyes alight.  
  
Jason shook his head. “You have your orders,” he told her.  
  
“But –“  
  
“No buts. Sorry, Fran.”  
  
“Jason, are you trying to protect me?”  
  
“No,” Jason said. “It’s because if the enemy gets past us, everyone here’s going to be depending on you and Rossi to do the job you were trained to do and protect _them_. You’re needed here. I have to go.”  
  
  
  
  
Veshkanian flattened himself against the wall of the supply building. “ _Ignots_!” he hissed under his breath. There were Gaian troops stationed around his landing craft. No doubt the pilots had already been taken prisoner. They probably hadn’t even put up much of a fight, Veshkanian speculated in disgust.  
  
“How many?” Derel asked.  
  
“Two guards per shuttle,” Veshkanian said, “and if they see us and open fire, no doubt we will soon face more than that.”  
  
“All of the other installations fell easily,” said Lieutenant Oren, who had been in the ground parties for all of the actions in question. “We never encountered this kind of resistance!”  
  
“But this is their home world,” Derel said, “and this time the Gaians have allied themselves with the Federation, curse them.”  
  
“I hear someone coming this way!” Tche-Ka exclaimed.  
  
Veshkanian flinched at the volume of the engineer’s voice then froze as he heard the sound of approaching footfalls.  
  
“Did you hear something?” a voice asked.  
  
“Over by the supply building!” another voice cried.  
  
Veshkanian grabbed Tche-Ka’s arm and ran for the door. “Everyone inside!” he ordered.  
  
  
  
  
Jason ran. Since he knew where he was going and was monitoring the communications channels, he covered far more ground in far less time than Jones’ group had and caught up with them as they closed in on the supply building.  
  
“Don’t,” he warned, holding up a hand to forestall anything Jones might say about his combat fitness. “If it makes you feel any better, tell yourself I’m here as a consultant.”  
  
Jones gave him a look that effectively communicated her opinion but remained silent. Jason regarded the little squad without a lot of optimism. Jones and Alban had engaged the Spectrans on Riga, once, and had managed to survive the experience. Thorne and Falcone were good protective services officers but were essentially unblooded, and the Gaian Captain Menk with his two sub-lieutenants whose names Jason didn’t know were a completely unknown quantity.  
  
Jason looked up at the supply building. Unsurprisingly, it was a large, unimaginative concrete block designed to hold equipment and little more. It ran roughly two hundred feet along the wall Jason was facing.  
  
Jones was holding her palm unit face upward, projecting a holographic display of the supply building.  
  
Jason turned to address Menk. “You know the layout in there, right?”  
  
“I do,” Menk said. “Floor-to-ceiling shelves and racks running almost the entire length of the building. There are corridors between the racks in a grid pattern and offices at both ends including a short mezzanine toward the rear of the building. It will be difficult to capture them.”  
  
“How many exits?” Alban asked.  
  
“Three: the main entrance, a side door and the loading bay,” Menk said. He opened a channel on his communicator. “Corporal Weran, this is Captain Menk. Reassign three of your men from guarding the shuttles to the exits at the supply building immediately.”  
  
“ _Yes, sir!_ ” came the reply.  
  
“In the meantime,” Jones said, “Shay, Terry, circle the building and report any movement. Captain Menk, are those shelves bolted down? I really don’t fancy having them pushed over on to us... although we could possibly use them if the Spectrans don’t think of it first.”  
  
“They’re securely anchored to the floor and the ceiling,” Menk said. “We had an accident with a loading machine a few years ago and after that we had everything bolted in.”  
  
“That’s one thing we don’t have to worry about then,” Jason said.  
  
Menk’s communicator sounded. “My men are in position,” he said.  
  
“We’ll make lovely targets as we go in,” Jones predicted darkly.  
  
Jason lowered his voice. “Not necessarily,” he said.  
  
  
  
  
Veshkanian and his men searched frantically up and down the shelves.  
  
“I can see no weapons here, Commander,” Lieutenant Ghatrek said. “This is a miscellaneous supply store. The most dangerous thing I’ve found is a crowbar.”  
  
“At least there’s plenty of cover,” Derel said. “Wait! What was that?”  
  
The Spectrans strained their ears and heard voices.  
  
“We’ll create the diversion at the side entrance and come in through the loading dock while they’re distracted,” a light male tenor declared. “Okay, deploy!”  
  
“To the loading dock!” Veshkanian hissed. “We’ll have the advantage! Hurry!”  
  
A series of thumps and shouts sounded from the side entrance to the supply building. Veshkanian ignored the obvious diversion and positioned his men around the desks and shelves with their weapons trained on the big door to the loading dock.  
  
A rattle of chains signalled the movement of the door.  
  
Cautiously, Jason opened the front door to the supply building and peered inside, keeping his cape up to protect his face. Slowly, silently he paced inside, checking all angles. “Clear!” he whispered. Menk, his men, Thorne and Jones followed him in, moving silently, rifles at the ready.  
  
Alban and Falcone hunkered down behind the Gaian version of a forklift with two of the Gaians who had been assigned to guard the loading dock and kept their weapons trained on the big roller door. At Alban’s signal, one of the Gaians crept forward, slid a pass card into the control slot and operated the switch. As the door rose, the Gaian soldier ran back to take cover behind the lifting machine and readied his weapon with shaking hands.  
  
The door motor engaged and the door began to rise with a groan of gears and a rattling of metal and chains.  
  
“You boys keep your heads down,” Shay told the Gaians. “Don’t fire until I give the order, got it?”  
  
There were several nervous responses of, “Yes, ma’am.”  
  
The first shots were fired by the Spectrans and went wide, seemingly random. There was an angry exclamation from inside the supply building, then the familiar sound of ISO LX-12 assault rifles erupted from further inside. Shay grinned. “They’re playing our song, boys.” More gunshots joined the chorus as the Spectrans returned fire. “Fire at will!” Shay ordered and began shooting.  
  
  
  
  
Veshkanian heard Derel swear as Private Nim began firing at empty space and Lieutenant Oren swatted Nim, angrily ordering him to stop. So much for discipline among the troops. Veshkanian squinted into the bright sunlight outside and grudgingly awarded the Gaians a point for choosing their ground well. Still, if the difference was such that those outside couldn’t make out detail within the shadows of the building, it could be an advantage –  
  
Gunfire sounded from _behind_ and Veshkanian flattened himself against the floor. He had never before heard the sound of ISO LX-12 assault rifles up close and it pained him to admit that he didn’t much care for it now. Unlike the hammering clatter of the Spectran Mordith-5 rifle,  [18] the ISO’s LX-12 with its faster rate of fire made a sound like the separation of the angriest length of Velcro in the galaxy, with an almost musical counterpoint from the spent casings hitting the concrete floor.  
  
Veshkanian smelled the blood before he raised his head enough to see Lieutenant Oren lying next to him, gasping desperately with red foam on his lips and his eyes wide with pain and fear. The Commander watched, horrified, as Oren’s mouth went slack and his pupils dilated to a blank and empty stare.  
  
Veshkanian rolled over and took stock. There was incoming fire from two directions but he and his men had some protection afforded by the receivals counter and a number of large metal crates which appeared to contain enough equipment or packing to stop bullets. Oren was dead, as was Pistol. Derel was firing out of the receivals bay door through a gap between the end of the receivals counter and a large heavy crate. Bullets were zipping overhead and slamming into the shelving above them, sending down little scatterings of dust from what appeared to be wooden boxes of some kind.  
  
“We need to retreat,” Veshkanian said to Derel.  
  
“Agreed,” Derel said. “Is there an escape route?”  
  
“Behind us,” Veshkanian said. “If we move quickly enough, we might be able to outflank them!”  
  
“I’ll cover you,” Derel said.  
  
“No,” Veshkanian said. “There are others who can do that.” He twisted around. “Brana! To me!”  
  
Private Brana stood up and fell back as bullets pounded into his chest. He landed in an untidy heap across Nim’s legs, blood pooling underneath him.  
  
“Private Nim!” Derel growled. “ _Keep your head down_ and get over here!”  
  
  
  
  
Keyop grinned at the display on his console. “Looking good, Princess,” he said. “Pressure’s comin’ up… no, wait. I’m getting a low pressure reading from sensor mike-seven-three india-fife-niner… Yeah. Eighty-seven percent… Okay. Standing by.” Keyop glanced toward the co-pilot’s station where Mark was sitting, listening to the radio chatter from the shield facility.  
  
Mark looked up and met Keyop’s gaze. “They’ve engaged the Spectrans,” he said.  
  
“Is Jason okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Mark said. “So far, so good. He shouldn’t be out there carrying that injury of his.”  
  
“True,” Keyop said, “but if it were you…” Keyop let the statement hang.  
  
“Do I really set _that_ bad an example?” Mark asked.  
  
Keyop’s face was a study in embarrassment and he spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Well… kinda, yeah. If it’s a choice between the sensible thing or the heroic thing, you usually go with heroic.”  
  
“Well, I… I usually have a good reason,” Mark said in his own defence.  
  
“Yeah, you do,” Keyop agreed, “and maybe Jason does, too. I mean, of everyone there on the ground, he’s the one with the most experience at fighting Zoltar’s happiness boys. They’re probably all looking up to him to lead them or something.”  
  
“Ugh!” Mark slapped the console with the flat of one hand. “We should be there!”  
  
“We have to fix the _Phoenix_ ,” Keyop pointed out. “Unless you just mean you, doing the hero thing again. Is that what you mean?”  
  
Mark shook his head. “I just wish we could help Jason and the others, but we can’t be in two places at once,” he conceded. “You know what scares me?”  
  
“Irukandji jellyfish,” [19] Keyop said promptly. “I know you’re scared of those.”  
  
“What? Keyop, I wasn’t talking about jellyfish – although the Irukandji’s pretty scary – the point I was trying to make is that Chief Anderson probably feels like this every time we go on a mission, and right now we can’t even get visuals with Zark’s processing power all taken up with working on the shield problem _._ ”  
  
  
  
  
“ _I can’t get a bead on their shooter_!” Shay Alban reported.  
  
“Just keep him pinned,” Jason said. “Hold your position. We’re going to try and outflank them. If you can keep your guy busy, that’s one less for us to worry about.”  
  
_“Roger that, sir_.”  
  
Captain Menk and his two sub-lieutenants – Jason now knew them as Vern and Elum – were watching Jason with pale, tense faces.  
  
“Just remember,” Jason cautioned, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the sound of Jones’ and Thorne’s weapons fire, “you have to be aware of your surroundings. This place might be familiar to you under normal circumstances but it won’t seem that way when you’re trying to move around under fire. All you have to do is engage the Spectrans and keep them pinned for as long as it takes for us to move in and strike. Any questions?”  
  
Menk shook his head. “We can do this,” he said.  
  
“Okay,” Jason said. “We’ll cover you.”  
  
  
  
  
Veshkanian moved in a crouching run, one hand holding his sidearm, the other clamped around the wrist of Larian Tche-Ka, dragging the little Gaian with him. The scientist was little better than a dead weight, moaning and whimpering in terror, seemingly incapable of any kind of volition. The small man’s helpless fear disgusted Veshkanian, who resolved that since Tche-Ka would be useless to him if they were overcome, his last act prior to dying or being captured would be to kill Tche-Ka. The thought gave him an intense feeling of satisfaction.  
  
A grunt and a gurgle, followed by a thump had Veshkanian moving faster.  
  
“Jakibi’s dead,” Sergeant Fenn announced.  
  
“We’re clear this way,” Lieutenant Ghatrek said, having checked the intersection of four passageways between the big shelves. “Let’s try to make it to the rear exit.”  
  
A low cry sounded from behind them. Veshkanian heard the familiar voice and turned back to see Sub-commander Derel down and clutching at his side.  
  
“Derel!” Veshkanian swatted angrily at Corporal Birin who held him back from his friend.  
  
“Go!” Derel said. “I’ll be all right. You _must_ go, Veshkanian! Do your duty!”  
  
“I’ll stay with Sub-commander Derel, sir,” Corporal Birin said. “Hurry, Commander!”  
  
Veshkanian tightened his grip on his prisoner’s arm, eliciting a cry of pain from the engineer. Derel was right. He had his duty. He ran, dragging Larian Tche-Ka with him.  
  
  
  
  
“How long, Princess?” Mark asked.  
  
“ _It’s hard to say, Commander_ ,” Princess replied. “ _It’s slow going. Near enough can’t be good enough for the plasma reticulation system. One breach in the magnetic containment field and we could blow ourselves out of the sky when we try to use_ Fiery Phoenix _. Everything has to be perfect_.”  
  
“I know,” Mark said. “Just do your best.”  
  
“ _Yeah, that kinda sums up what I had in mind_ ,” Princess said.  
  
“Sorry,” Mark said. “You know your job better than I do. I won’t distract you any more.”  
  
“ _It’s okay, Mark_ ,” Princess said. “ _I’m used to working under pressure and, hey, it’s not as though there’s anyone shooting at me this time_.”  
  
  
  
  
Captain Menk tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. Silently, he cursed himself for a coward. He was supposed to be taking on the Spectrans with courage to defend the motherworld, not fighting down gut-wrenching terror! He gritted his teeth and readied his weapon, signalling to his men to do likewise. Sub-lieutenant Elum edged forward and checked the intersecting corridor in both directions, then signalled that it was clear. Menk took a breath and ran forward. He made a sharp left turn and led with his rifle, shooting as he ran.  
  
Ahead of him, a Spectran soldier was hit in the act of turning to open fire and there was another sitting on the floor behind the receivals counter with his back against the wall. Menk’s bullets went high, passing over the top of the counter out through the open door of the receivals bay.  
  
The seated Spectran’s hand came up and he fired the pistol he was holding.  
  
Menk felt the impact in his chest like a kick. He stopped firing and fell back, gasping.  
  
Sub-lieutenant Vern aimed his rifle at the Spectran. “Do not move, Spectra scum,” Vern said. “If you do, I will kill you.”  
  
The Spectran dropped his weapon.  
  
“ _Captain Menk!_ ” It was Major Alban of the ISO calling him. “ _I’m going to assume that you weren’t_ actually _trying to shoot me just now.”_  
  
Sub-lieutenant Elum bent over Menk, who struggled into a sitting position, clutching at his chest.  
  
“Sir?” Elum ventured, his expression a mixture of fear and concern.  
  
“I think we may offer up prayers of gratitude to the Goddess,” Menk said. “If I survive the day, I will also write a letter of thanks to the Armourers’ Guild.” He reached for his radio and opened a channel. “My apologies, Major Alban. We have taken the Spectran position at the receivals bay, but there are only four men here. Three of them are dead and we have a wounded officer.”  
  
“ _I’m coming in with my men,_ ” Alban said. “ _Do_ not _shoot at us, or I might shoot back, and trust me, Captain, you wouldn’t enjoy it_.”  
  
  
  
  
“Move out,” Jason ordered, and the two security officers followed him as he hurried down the long central corridor of the supply building, Jason’s enhanced hearing was picking up the sound of running feet, but it was difficult to accurately determine direction or distance in the maze of shelves.  
  
Nathan Thorne hurried to keep up as Jason broke into a run with Jones following. “Isn’t this dangerous, sir?” he asked his Commanding Officer.  
  
“Thorne,” Jones said, “now is _not_ the time to be having this discussion.”  
  
  
  
  
“I am Sub-commander Aizan Derel of the Spectran Imperial Army,” Derel said. “You should know that you cannot hope to defeat us. Surrender now, and perhaps we will show you mercy when my Commander captures you.”  
  
“Tough talk from a guy lying on the ground and bleeding,” Terry Falcone said.  
  
“Yeah,” Alban agreed. “I gotta admire your guts, Sub-commander, but if it’s all the same to you, I’ll pass on your generous offer.” She nodded to Captain Menk. “Send your guys back with him. He’ll need to go to the infirmary. While he’s there, maybe they can remove the stick from his ass. In the meantime, you know your way around this dump so I need you to take point. Let’s go.”  
  
  
  
  
Jason stopped and stood with his back hard against the end of a row of shelves. Jones did likewise against the next row and Thorne followed suit. Jason glanced back at his companions to see Jones holding up a warning hand and Thorne heeding it, silent but alert.  
  
Jason stilled his breathing and listened. He could hear Shay and two other men making cautious progress up one side of the building, and he could hear that the Spectrans had stopped running. There was sound suggestive of their taking cover somewhere ahead and to his left.  
  
Ahead in a cleared space was a dispatch counter with a work station and a forklift-type machine with some heavy crates. Jason held up a hand and signalled his intention to move. Jones nodded and readied her gun, as did Thorne.  
  
Jason took a deep breath, gathered himself and sprinted. A few shots rang out belatedly as he skidded to a stop behind the counter.  He returned fire and nodded to Jones, who waved Thorne forward as she lay down covering fire with her LX-12. The young officer made a mad dash across the gap and dropped into a crouch beside Jason. Thorne took several deep breaths while Jason waited a moment and exchanged a few more rounds with the Spectrans. G-2 turned to Thorne. “Thorne?” he asked.  
  
The young officer swallowed and nodded, his face pale but his expression determined. “Yes, sir?”  
  
“When you asked about it being dangerous,” Jason said, “you weren’t asking a really dumb question, were you?”  
  
“I meant the _way_ we were running forward without checking if it was clear,” Thorne explained. “I know it’s dangerous, sir. It’s just that procedure –”  
  
“I know what the training manual says,” Jason said. “One of the things I can do is hear better than most folks. I could track the enemy by the sound they were making, so I knew it was clear. Thing is, Thorne, I need for you to trust me. If I give you a directive, you forget what the book says and you do as I tell you, okay?”  
  
“Understood, sir,” Thorne said.  
  
“Okay. Now you gotta lay down some cover for your boss so she can get over here and tear you a new one for asking sensible questions.”  
  
“Does she know about your, um, abilities, sir?” Thorne asked.  
  
“Couldn’t say,” Jason said. “She just seems to trust me for some reason or other. Weird lady, if you ask me.”  
  
“I can hear you, you know,” Jones said. “Could you get on and start shooting, please?”  
  
“You heard her,” Jason said, and the two men began firing. By now the Spectrans knew what to expect and Jones had bullets clipping at her heels as she ran. Jason kept firing even after Jones was safely behind him, and was rewarded with a pained grunt from a Spectran and the sound of men cursing. “Think I got one,” he muttered grimly.  
  
“I’ve always admired your work,” Jones said, checking her rifle.  
  
“Don’t go all fangirl on me now,” Jason quipped.  
  
“What do you think the odds might be?” Jones parried.  
  
“Yeah… pretty low,” Jason said with a grin.  
  
“Wish I’d brought an LX-20 with us from Earth,” Jones sighed.  
  
“Oh, now that _would_ be nice,” Jason said, thinking of the ISO’s heavy assault weapon with its higher calibre multi-purpose rounds. “An LX- _50_ would’ve been a stroke of genius.”  
  
A hiss in Jason’s helmet sounded as a comm channel opened. “ _G-2 from Captain Menk. I have ordered my remaining troops to deploy around the exterior of the building. Do you want them to join us in here?”_  
  
“With all due respect,” Jason replied, “they don’t have a lot of combat experience and I think the risk of being caught in crossfire’s just too high. Keep ‘em outside in case these guys get away from us.”  
  
  
  
  
Private Micsuini lay propped against the wall, gasping in pain. His upper right arm was a mangled mess and what was visible of his face under his half-mask had gone grey. Blood was streaming down his arm to pool on the floor beneath him.  
  
Sergeant Fenn glanced at Commander Veshkanian and shook his head, even as he continued firing at the two Galaxy Security officers and their Gaian lackey.  
  
Veshkanian uttered a low, helpless growl. “Curse G-Force and their minions alike,” he snarled.  
  
“Commander,” Lieutenant Ghatrek said, pitching his voice so that Veshkanian could hear him over the clatter of his rifle, “let me attempt to flank the G-Force position. If I am stealthy enough I may be able to pin them down long enough for you to escape.”  
  
Sergeant Fenn nodded his approval. “Private Nim and I will remain here,” he said. “It will give you a better chance, Commander.”  
  
Veshkanian tugged on the collar of Larian Tche-Ka’s ill-fitting tunic. “You see, Tche-Ka? This is how _men_ do battle.”  
  
The Gaian sobbed in fear.  
  
“Shall I shoot him, Commander?” Ghatrek offered.  
  
“No,” Veshkanian said. “He may still be useful. I will take him with me, and if he ceases to be useful, I will dispose of him myself.”  
  
  
  
  
Shay Alban ducked as the Spectran who had been shooting at her switched from single shots to rapid fire. “Okay, they’re up to something,” she told Menk, who was in the process of reloading his gun.  
  
“Trying to flank us?” Menk asked.  
  
“Most likely,” Shay said. “Al, you copy?”  
  
“ _Affirm_ ,” Jones replied. “ _This lot are laying down covering fire as well_.”  
  
Alban set her LX-12 to continuous, braced herself and let the weapon belch forth a stream of bullets that tore into the counter behind which the Spectrans were hiding. She staggered backward with the recoil and her last few shots went high. The enemy fire ceased.  
  
“You got him!” Menk exclaimed, and stood up.  
  
“Wait!” Alban exclaimed and grabbed Menk’s arm. The fact that she was pulling him sideways as well as down prevented the bullets from taking his head off but one fragment nicked his left arm and the green uniform darkened with blood. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” she demanded. “Have you got a bandage?”  
  
“In one of my belt pouches at the back,” Menk said.  
  
“Terry, can you get that arm strapped?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Falcone said and set to work.  
  
Alban switched to short bursts and continued firing at the enemy. “Y’know,” she said, “if we do get some kind of treaty signed between Gaia and the Federation, you guys might want to consider joining us for some combat training. I mean, you’ve got guts, but I’d like to work on your situational awareness some.”  
  
“It was a stupid mistake,” Menk admitted, fumbling with a triangular bandage.  
  
“Lesson learned,” Alban said.  
  
“ _Are you all right, Shay_?” Jones asked via the comm.  
  
“Yeah, but Menk’s been winged,” Alban said.  
  
“ _Keep your eyes open_ ,” Jones said.  
  
“That’s part of the plan,” Alban replied.  
  
  
  
  
While Jason and Nathan Thorne fired on the Spectran position, Jones edged around the inside of the dispatch counter. The three Earthlings were occupying a square space bounded by four counters with gaps at each corner. Jason had signalled for Jones to move to their right, relying on his uncanny hearing to track the enemy. For Jones, who had normal senses that were confounded by the noise from the guns, there was nothing to indicate where the Spectrans might be. She stayed low, peering cautiously through the gap in the counters, alert for movement.  
  
  
  
The shelves in the supply building were laid out in a standard grid pattern, but it might as well have been a maze as far as Veshkanian was concerned. Lieutenant Ghatrek had disappeared into the shelves and was presumably looking for a spot from which to attack the Earthlings while Fenn and Nim continued to exchange fire with the two groups of Earthlings. Veshkanian took several deep breaths and wondered if Derel had survived. How would he face Derel’s wife if he was able to return to Spectra and his best friend did not? Angrily, Veshkanian dismissed the thought. There would be time enough for that if he made it back to the ship. If not, he would take as many of the enemy with him as he could and avenge the man who had been like a brother to him all these years.  
  
  
  
  
The shelves were backed with something solid. Whatever it was, Jones realised with some chagrin, the rounds of the LX-12 were doing little more than making dents in it. “Who the hell over-engineers supply store shelves for heaven’s sake?” she muttered irritably.  
  
“ _Menk says it’s part of the fire control system,_ ” Shay Alban replied via the open comm channel. “ _Apparently each row of shelves can act as a fire wall and they can drop fire doors from the roof to close the gaps between them._ ”  
  
“That would have been good to know earlier!” Jones snarled. “Are you saying we could close the fire doors and cut the Spectrans off?”  
  
“ _Not without trapping ourselves as well,_ ” Alban said. “ _All the doors activate at once, according to Menk._ ”  
  
“Could be a last resort,” Jason said. “Crazy-ass alien fire systems,” he added under his breath.  
  
Jones caught a flicker of movement and fired a short burst from her rifle. Answering fire erupted from the shelves and she ducked back behind the counter. “Found one,” she told Jason.  
  
“Peachy,” Jason said.  
  
  
  
  
Veshkanian took hold of Tche-Ka’s wrist in a harsh grip that would leave bruises if the Gaian lived long enough. “This way, coward,” he growled. Tche-Ka was obliged to follow where the tall Spectran dragged him.  Tche-Ka was not familiar with the layout of the supply store and he found himself hopelessly disoriented as Veshkanian hauled him bodily along the corridors formed by the shelves. After a few minutes, Veshkanian threw him to the ground. “Do not move or I will shoot you,” Veshkanian said and opened fire on the Earthlings’ position at the dispatch counter.  
  
  
  
  
“We’re taking fire from three directions!” Jason said. “Thorne you stay put and keep shooting.” Jason edged toward Jones, staying low to avoid the bullets that zipped overhead. From the interval and the sound, Jason realised he was dealing with a sidearm rather than an assault rifle.  
  
  
  
  
“Menk,” Major Alban said, “if we cover you, do you think you’d be able to flank the Spectrans?”  
  
“Yes,” Menk said. “My injury isn’t serious. It could take a while, though.”  
  
“Works for me,” Alban said. “G-2, I’m sending Captain Menk around to try and flank the other side of your position.”  
  
“ _Just be careful!_ ” Jason warned.  
  
  
  
  
Security Chief Anderson frowned as he monitored the active radio channels. “They’re pinned,” he said grimly “I don’t like this.”  
  
“They could send the Gaians in,” Lieutenant Rossi suggested.  
  
“Too inexperienced,” Anderson said. “We’re just as likely to end up with a friendly fire incident if they do. We can’t risk losing G-2.” He glanced at Lieutenant Patrick, who was pacing back and forth as she listened to the radio chatter. “Still want to do your part, Lieutenant?”  
  
“Hell yes, sir!” the young woman replied, her eyes alight.  
  
  
  
  
Jason grimaced and fired several rounds. "How many more of them are there?" he ejected an empty magazine and reloaded. "This is my last clip," he said.  
  
"I doubt I've got anything compatible," Jones said, "but I’m carrying a rifle and two side arms. Take your pick."  
  
"Side arm," Jason said. Jones unholstered the gun at her left hip and slid it across the floor. Jason stopped it with his good hand and moved it to sit beside his foot. “I’ll keep using my own gun until I run out of ammo,” he said.  
  
"Mind you," Jones pointed out, "you'd be deadly with a wooden ruler and a rubber band."  
  
Jason smirked. "Who says I need a wooden ruler?" He peered over the top of the counter. A round glanced off the top of his helmet and he ducked again. “How’s everyone fixed for ammo?”  
  
“I’ve got one and a half LX-12 clips left,” Jones said, “but my side arm’s fully loaded and I’ve got two spare clips for it.”  
  
“I’m on my last clip for the LX-12,” Thorne said as he reloaded. “Same as the Colonel for my sidearms.”  
  
“Okay,” Jason said. “Conserve your ammo but try to keep the happiness boys pinned down. Captain Menk, do you copy?”  
  
“ _Yes, sir_ ,” Menk said.  
  
“I might have to take you up on that offer of sending your guys in. Do you think they can handle it?”  
  
“ _They are sworn to fight and die for the motherworld,_ ” Menk said.  
  
“Gonna take that as a ‘no,’” Jason said. “Damn. We’ll just have to make each round count.”  
  
  
  
  
Larian Tche-Ka risked glancing upward at his captor. Veshkanian was exchanging fire with the Federation forces and wasn’t looking Tche-Ka’s way at all. Tche-Ka tried to slow his breathing and still the trembling in his limbs. If he ran, he might be killed, but if he _didn’t_ run… He began to crawl backward, edging away from Veshkanian toward the next gap in the shelves.  
  
  
  
  
“You take my last clip, Major,” Terry Falcone said. “I’ll use my sidearms.”  
  
“Too risky,” Alban said.  
  
“Less risky than if we both stop using the rifles and switch to hand guns at the same time,” Falcone pointed out.  
  
“I hate it when you’re right,” Shay said, and reloaded her rifle. “Damn, we could use an LX-20 around about now.”  
  
“Tell me about it,” Falcone said.  
  
  
  
  
“Don’t shoot!” a voice screamed and a diminutive figure in ill-fitting Spectran drab raced from a gap in the shelving.  
  
“Hold your fire!” Jason barked and took aim at a Spectran in black who leaned out from behind a shelf to take aim at the deserter. He squeezed the trigger and the Spectran fell back with a cry.  
  
More gunfire issued forth from the shelves and Jones directed her own fire over the top of the fleeing man.  
  
An angry sound tore through the air and the gunfire from the shelving stopped.  
  
“That wasn’t Shay’s group,” Jones said. “Who else is firing LX-12s?”  
  
“Someone must’ve flanked ‘em!” Jason said.  
  
“But _who_?” Jones asked.  
  
“Help me!” the little man in drab shrieked and made a dive for the dispatch counter.  
  
Jones dropped her rifle, grabbed the new arrival and pushed him to the ground, holding his arms behind his back. “Don’t move,” she told him. She frisked him quickly and pulled the half mask off his head. “Identify yourself.”  
  
Shaking, the man began to babble. "They forced me, I swear!" he cried. "They trapped me, they tricked me into it! There was nothing I could do!"  
  
"Life's full of choices," Jason said. "What's your name, short stuff, and what did Spectra want with you?"  
  
"I'm Larian Tche-Ka," the man said miserably. "I'm a senior shield systems engineer."  
  
"Well, Chucky," Jason said, brightening, "I think I can honestly say that I’m delighted to make your acquaintance! Stay down and keep out of the way. Don’t get killed, okay?”  
  
Jason caught glimpses of dark blue uniformed figures moving through the gaps in the shelving and the LX-12s sang their furious tearing song, then stopped.  
  
“Clear!” a voice called.  
  
“ _All units, this is Rossi,_ ” a male voice said over the open comm channel. “ _We’re clear._ ”  
  
“Rossi?” Jones echoed, her expression darkening. “What the hell is Rossi doing here?” Cautiously, she stood, rifle at the ready. She made her way to where a Spectran in regular drab lay dead behind the shelving. Further down the corridor, she saw Lieutenant Cho holding a gun on the black-clad Spectran commander while Alvarez bandaged the prisoner’s arm. Another Spectran in regular drab sat cross-legged on the floor with his hands behind his head.  
  
Jones took a breath and forced herself to remain calm. “Alvarez,” she asked, “how many of you are here?”  
  
Alvarez opened his mouth and closed it again. “Uh… well, sir…”  
  
“There you are,” Security Chief Anderson said, striding toward her with an LX-12 in his arms and four more security officers – Richards, Yelchin, Rossi and Patrick – bringing up the rear. “You okay?”  
  
Jones took a series of deep breaths and counted to ten.  
  
It didn’t help.  
  
“ _Am I okay_?” she echoed. “Is that your idea of a joke?”  
  
  
  
  
Jason intercepted Major Alban and Lieutenant Falcone as they jogged toward him. “Report,” he said.  
  
“We’re clear, sir,” Alban said. “Their Sub-commander was the only survivor out of the hostiles we engaged. He’s been taken to the infirmary. Menk’s on his way back – and here he is.”  
  
Jason turned and waved Captain Menk over to him. “Who was in the relieving force?” he asked, then he heard Jones’ voice and broke into a run without waiting for an answer, dragging Larian Tche-Ka unceremoniously behind him.  
  
"C'mon, Chucky," Jason said, leading his prisoner toward his compatriots. "This is one show I don't wanna miss."  
  
Jones had stopped almost toe to toe with Anderson. She appeared to be shaking, and Jason surmised that it wasn't with fear. "What the _hell_ do you call this?" she hissed.  
  
"Gee, Al, you're welcome," Anderson drawled. "It appears to be us saving your asses. Do you have any other questions?"  
  
Jones drew herself up and delivered her iciest stare. When she began to speak, her tone was level, but her voice rose in both pitch and volume as she progressed. "As a matter of fact, sir, I do. Could you kindly tell me why, with the number of people we actually have on the ground, together with our Gaian allies, you felt it necessary to put yourself at risk and _come charging in here like the bloody cavalry when you were supposed to be safe in the emergency control room_?" This last was delivered at full volume with Jones' hands clenched into trembling fists.  
  
Jason dragged Tche-Ka forward. "Hey, Chief! Look who I found! Here we are! Assets! Protected! Safe! Al, breathe. Now." Jason wedged himself in between Anderson and Jones, forcing Jones to step backward before she could go from shouting to screaming. "And again, Colonel," Jason instructed, his back to the furious security coordinator. "Inhale. Exhale. Very good. At ease." Jason leaned toward Anderson so that his Chief of Staff was obliged to lean backward to avoid a face full of pointed G-Force visor. He held eye contact and lowered his voice to a murmur. "And if you make anything that sounds like a wisecrack at this point," he said, "I'll save Al the trouble and hit you myself. With this guy."  
  
Tche-Ka, on tiptoe due to Jason's hand gripping his shirt, wailed aloud in distress.  
  
Anderson focussed on the captive Gaian. "Jason, please put this man back on the ground."  
  
  
  
  
Shay Alban paced up and down in front of a bare concrete and chain-link enclosure which, until some short while ago, had been full of packaging waste destined for recycling. The Gaians had nothing that could be pressed into service as a brig for as large a number of prisoners as was currently being processed, so Captain Ekeng had ordered his men to clear out the chain-link pen which normally held cardboard cartons for recycling in the waste management section and assigned guards to surround the pen and the building both. Other Gaian officers watched and listened as Federation personnel outlined the ISO’s procedure for dealing with prisoners of war.  
  
The last of the surviving Spectrans – they’d given their names as Sergeant Fenn and Private Nim – were finally being herded inside the pen as Lieutenant Colonel Jones entered the area and walked over to stand beside her second-in-charge.  
  
"You okay?" Alban asked.  
  
"Oh, absolutely spiffing, old girl," Jones said dryly. “The Gaians are cleaning up the bloodbath in the supply building, Commander Vesh-what’s-his-name and his second are both in the infirmary and the shield boffin’s in the control room. You seem to have everything under control here. At least I can always rely on you.”  
  
“I thought you were going to hit him,” Alban murmured quietly so that only Jones could hear her.  
  
“So did I for a minute,” Jones confessed.  
  
"You're in fine form, today," Alban commented. "You only ever use words like 'spiffing' when you're royally pissed."  
  
"Look at us, Shay," Jones said, keeping her voice low, "we're protection officers, not a bloody combat unit. Our assignment's off on some testosterone-driven quest for the holy bleeding grail and we've just been passing the time of day exchanging fire with Spectran army regulars. Of course I'm royally pissed!"  
  
"Still," Alban reasoned, "you have to admit, it's a change from the routine."  
  
  
  
  
Larian Tche-Ka slumped in the chair he’d been assigned, which wobbled alarmingly. "I'm finished," he moaned, "my life is over."  
  
"As it stands," Anderson said, "your life's far from over, but if we don't get the shields operational and reconfigured before the main body of the strike force arrives, you'll wish it were." The Security Chief leaned in close, grasped a handful of Tche-Ka's tunic and hauled the Gaian half out of his seat, forcing the man to look at him. "Let me assure you, I'm going to make certain that whatever happens, you'll survive to face the consequences of your actions, even if I have to haul whatever’s left of your sorry ass all the way back to Earth in a diplomatic pouch." Anderson released his hold and Tche-Ka fell back into the chair, flailing to keep from falling as the seat tilted and swung. "However," Anderson said, softening his tone, "you can help us save this planet from being overrun, which would greatly alter the perception your superiors will have of you after this is over. You might not be hailed a hero, Doctor Tche-Ka, but you may be able to mitigate some of the damage you've done."  
  
Tche-Ka swallowed, not daring to move, even to wipe the sweat from his brow.  
  
"What's it going to be, Chucky?" Jason asked, his voice dangerously quiet.  
  
"Of course I'll cooperate!" Tche-Ka squeaked. "I don't want my planet to fall to Spectra!"  
  
"Then why --?" Jason began to demand, but Anderson held up a hand and the younger man fell silent.  
  
"For your sake, it had better not," Anderson said ominously, and Tche-Ka shuddered, the blood draining from his face.  
  
  
  
  
"This is outrageous!" the senior Spectran prisoner declaimed. "Isn't it enough that you've wounded and humiliated us, now you're holding us in a _cage_?"  
  
"Once you’ve been processed as prisoners of war, Lieutenant, you can lodge an official complaint with the Gaian Commonwealth or the Federation Council, or both," Jones informed him crisply. "In the meantime, we're under duress and I'm in no mood to argue with you. _However_ , your wounded are safely in the infirmary under guard as per the terms of the Proxima Convention and you’ll be transferred to an appropriate facility as soon as possible."  
  
"It's an outrage!" Lieutenant Hazen repeated. "You can't keep prisoners under these conditions! There are no facilities!"  
  
"We'll get you a bucket, Lieutenant," Jones snapped. "Keep yourself occupied brooding over the injustices of it all while you're here. In the meantime, I remind you that of the two of us, I'm the one holding a loaded weapon. Are there any other questions?"  
  
"You won't get away with this," the Spectran promised.  
  
Jones motioned for Lieutenant Yelchin to lock the gate. "Find them a bucket, Lieutenant," she ordered.  
  
"You know," Alban said thoughtfully, but deliberately pitching her voice so that the Spectrans could hear her, "we could always just shoot 'em."  
  
Inside the chain-link cage, masked heads turned toward her.  
  
"I really don't want to have to do that, Major," Jones said. "Under the Proxima Convention, we can't shoot POWs unless --"  
  
"-- We're in a position where they outnumber us and there’s a clear and present danger of being overrun, in which case, it's legal,” [20]  Alban finished. "They _do_ outnumber us, y'know."  
  
Jones cast a calculating glance over at the Spectrans. "I admit there _are_ quite a few of them, but we’re here to help the Gaians and set a good example. I really must insist you refrain from shooting the prisoners."  
  
"But they could give us trouble. You heard their senior officer mouthing off. Sounded like it could’ve been a threat to overrun us."  
  
The Spectran soldiers looked at the floor, at the ceiling -- anywhere but at Lieutenant Hazen. A few of the prisoners shuffled uncomfortably away from him.  
  
"They're in a cage, Major," Jones pointed out in as reasonable a tone as she could muster.  
  
"Chain-link. Not security mesh. Held only by a padlock," Alban pointed out. "An _alien_ padlock, designed to restrain packaging material."  
  
"They're unarmed."  
  
"Only as far as a cursory search could determine."  
  
"Major," Jones said carefully, "I'm leaving you in charge. Do _not_ shoot the prisoners." She turned to leave. "Not unless they give you any _actual_ trouble." Jones lowered her voice so that only Alban could hear her. “You can probably stop yanking their chains now, Shay.”  
  
“Nervous prisoners are less likely to organise themselves effectively enough to break out of that flimsy damned enclosure,” Alban murmured back. She straightened and raised her voice again. "Understood, ma'am," she said aloud. She stood motionless as Jones crossed the room and passed through the heavy door. After a moment, she glanced at Anna Yelchin, who had found a bucket and was watching her with a slightly quizzical expression. "She didn't _define_ 'trouble,' exactly," Alban pointed out.  
  
"I think we're going to need that bucket," said one of the captives.  
  
  
  
  
Jones made her way down the maze of seemingly endless stairs and tapped at the door of the control room to warn the occupants of her approach.  
  
Anderson was working at a computer station with Tche-Ka, seemingly oblivious to everything except the analysis they were running, but Jason was on his feet and wary. Dr Jensen was packing up a medical kit, having conducted a check of Jason’s injured shoulder, and nodded to Jones as he headed for the door.  
  
“I’m going to head over to the infirmary and see how the Gaian medics are doing with the Spectrans,” he told Jones.  
  
"Very good, Major Jensen.” Jones walked toward Jason. “The facility's secure," she reported. "The prisoners have been confined in a locked area. The wounded are in the infirmary under guard."  
  
"Good to know," Jason said, and sank into the relatively large executive chair behind the desk that proclaimed itself the domain of the Duty Manager. Jones frowned, noting the pallor of his face.  
  
"We've got things more or less under control, now," she said gently. "Are you sure you don't want anything from the medical kit?"  
  
"I'm sure," Jason said, reaching for the bottle of water on the desk.  
  
"You're a very stubborn young man," Jones observed.  
  
"I know." Jason grinned and took a swallow of water. "Just let me sit here for a few minutes.” Jason sighed and stretched out, pushing the backrest as far back as it would go. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, aware of the twinges and aches in his battered shoulder. If he could just stay still for long enough, his cerebonics would resume work on his damaged body. "I’ll be fine," he said. “Really.” He opened his eyes again and studied Jones through the violet tint of his visor. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind, though.”  
  
“We just killed people,” Jones said. “It was all perfectly legal and done in accordance with procedure, and they would have killed us without a second thought, but it doesn’t change the fact that we just killed people. I’m not really used to it.”  
  
“You should probably keep it that way,” Jason said. “We do what we have to do, y’know? Assuming we get home, they’ll book you in for a debrief. If you tell anyone I said this, I’ll deny it, but talk to the shrinks. Tell ‘em everything. It actually kind of helps.”  
  
“Thanks,” Jones said. “I’ll do that.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  1. A very old established family, the Micsuinis (pronounced “McSweeney.”)
  2. Spectra mass-produces its assault rifles on the cheap. Remember, the Spectrans aren’t just trying to invade Earth. They also have a bunch of “slave planets” such as Sigma Minor and they’re fighting to hold on to captured territory such as Planet Riga. Conflict on that scale requires a lot of weaponry and even more ammunition, so the Mordith-5 is churned out of factories by the thousand. If they break, they are replaced. This has one advantage in that they are not much use to resistance fighters because they’re basically rubbish, so unless you have access to a big Spectran supply depot, a captured Mordith-5 won’t be something you keep for very long. The Federation is quite happy to smuggle LX-8s to anyone who might look as though they’re going to stand up to Zoltar. They don’t supply local resistance forces with LX‑12s though. Today’s freedom fighter could well be tomorrow’s insurgent. They can have the older model guns, thank you very much. As for the sound made by the LX-12, some twenty-first century rapid fire assault rifles shoot so quickly that they do make a sound that I can only describe as the most dangerous piece of Velcro _ever_. Thank you to Shayron for the YouTube videos featuring dangerous Velcro.
  3. The Irukandji jellyfish is the smallest, most venomous box jellyfish in the world. Their stings are incredibly painful and can be lethal to humans if not properly treated. Mark is right to be scared of them.
  4. A WWII veteran told me once that if a unit captured a group of enemy soldiers whose numbers were such that they could overpower their captors, Allied forces were allowed to shoot them. I cannot find anything in the Geneva Convention that allows for this so I don’t know if it’s actually true or not, but it makes for a bit of interesting dramatic tension and a touch of comic relief. Henry V did it with less of an excuse after Agincourt. He was pissed off, albeit royally so.




	9. The Vorpal Sword Went, 'Snicker-Snack!'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Mark's turn to set a trap. Meanwhile, Chief Anderson indulges in a spot of plagiarism.

Its system reboot completed and with control returned to the Gaians, the generators kicked in and the great planetary shield of Gaia began to power up.  
  
"How soon until we reach full power?" Anderson asked, watching the displays on the monitors in the control room. The tele-comm unit displayed a split image: 7-Zark-7 at Center Neptune Control and the bridge of the _Phoenix_ , where Mark stood with arms folded.  
  
" _At the current rate, I estimate a minimum of forty minutes,_ " Zark said. " _My rework of the configuration requires more time to reach its full potential._ "  
  
" _We could hold them off_ ," Mark predicted grimly, " _once we finish getting the_ Phoenix _repaired. Another half hour is all we need_."  
  
"Providing it works," Anderson said, "and providing you're done in thirty minutes. If the fix fails, you're in deep trouble and you still have to navigate the asteroid field. It looks like we're running out of time."  
  
"There may be an alternative," Tche-Ka ventured. He squirmed under the glare of Anderson's focus.  
  
"Yes?" Anderson prompted.  
  
"Commander Veshkanian was in charge of the whole battle group," Tche-Ka said, trembling. "The Crown of Thorns is still out there operating with a skeleton crew, and as I understand it, all the other ships' systems can be integrated under the direct control of the flagship."  
  
"You _are_ bright, Chucky," Jason said.  
  
  
  
  
In the end, they'd had to raid Lieutenant Rossi’s kit bag which contained a set of PT gear that would fit Commander Veshkanian. The Gaians possessed nothing beyond a sheet that was big enough to serve as a replacement for the Spectran Commander's uniform. Fortunately, Rossi was tall enough that he and Veshkanian could wear the same sized pants, although the shoulders on Rossi's sweatshirt were ridiculously wide on Veshkanian's slender frame. Veshkanian's uniform had been put through the fastest possible ultrasonic cleaning cycle.  
  
Naturally enough, Veshkanian had offered up a series of eloquent and indignant protests. Jones had managed to find a set of complaint forms among the files on her palm unit and, giving in to a little core of malice in her soul, had arranged for a Gaian corporal to capture an image of the holographic version of the document (the file formats weren’t compatible) then print the poor quality copy out on flimsy lightweight paper, which she had given to the Spectran Commander to fill out. In triplicate. In a fit of administrative sadism, she'd also located the Gaian equivalent of a cheap fine-tip ballpoint pen that only wrote half the time and left vicious tears and gouges in the paper the other half.  
  
"I knew there was a reason I like working with you," Anderson said.  
  
"I suppose if he asks, I shall have to give him a pen that works," Jones conceded.  
  
"So make sure you don't hear him ask," Anderson reasoned. His palm unit chirped and he answered it.  
  
_"We're ready to start, Chief,"_ Mark announced.  
  
"Good luck, Commander," Anderson said.  
  
It was only a matter of waiting, now.  
  
  
  
  
Major Alban had wielded the flamethrower like an artist, blackening selected areas of the otherwise pristine paintwork of the captured Spectran shuttle. When she was done, she stepped back to survey her handiwork, pronounced it good and carried the flamethrower back to where her audience awaited.  
  
Mark was wearing the Spectran Commander's regalia which had been cleaned and patched up with black duct tape while Princess and Keyop wore soldier's uniforms. Ing and Harek stood slouched in postures of hangdog defeat, guarded on either side by two security officers.  
  
"It sure looks like it's been in a fight," Princess said.  
  
"That's the idea." Alban wiped sweat from her brow as she approached. Soot from the flamethrower had left smudges across her face and on her clothing. "Wish I was going with you."  
  
"You're needed here," Mark said. He pulled Veshkanian's mask over his face. "How do I look?"  
  
"It's tight around the shoulders," Princess observed. "If you keep the cape closed it won't show."  
  
"Commander," Alban said, "the sight of you in that getup makes my trigger finger itchy."  
  
"I'll take that as a compliment," Mark decided. "Let's go."  
  
With a little prompting from Princess and Keyop, Ing and Harek shuffled forward at the pointy ends of captured Spectran assault rifles, cringing and scowling. As they approached the shuttle, the stink of scorched paint and hot metal made Ing gag.  
  
Inside, the transport was clean and well appointed. Ing was hustled into the co-pilot's seat with Princess taking the command console while Keyop stood behind Ing. Mark stood behind the pilot's seat, with the luckless Harek positioned nervously between him and Keyop.  
  
"Now, remember, you two," Mark warned the Spectrans, "if there's any trouble, I'll personally make sure you live long enough to regret it. Understood?"  
  
"Absolutely," Ing declared.  
  
"Yes, sir," Harek said meekly.  
  
Princess smiled. "It's nice to know we can reach a mutual understanding," she said.  
  
Ing suppressed a whimper. He wanted to find a corner somewhere, curl up and gibber.  
  
  
  
  
Lieutenant Threl liked the big chair on the bridge. It had presence. When you sat in the big chair, you quite literally _commanded_ attention. Threl felt he could get used to it. There were two ways in which a man could rise to command rank in the Spectran forces: one was to be born to it like Veshkanian and Derel, the other was to demonstrate outstanding performance and achieve promotion. The second way was the slowest, but Threl was distantly related to land owning aristocracy (his second cousin had married into one of the big mountain clans) and there was someone to vouch for him if he could prove himself.  
  
Commander Veshkanian had demonstrated faith in Threl by leaving him in charge of the Crown of Thorns command ship. In his heart, Threl would have preferred to have accompanied the Commander down to the planet and fought valiantly at his side to crush the impertinent Gaians, but this, too, would look good on his record.  
  
"We have an incoming signal," Crewman Fin said. "It's the Commander! He's in one of our landing craft!"  
  
"Well don't just sit there gaping, you fool," Threl said. "Put it on the main screen."  
  
The screen lit up with a grainy, static-plagued image of two soldiers.  
  
_"Sir,"_ said one of the soldiers, a private Threl could recall seeing around the Crown of Thorns on occasion, _"the Gaians have mounted armed resistance with the aid of the accursed Earthlings. We managed to escape with this vessel and have the Commander aboard. The Commander requires that you rendezvous with us immediately and we will return to the planet's surface to show these miserable upstarts what it means to defy the might of Planet Spectra!"_  
  
"Where is the Commander?" Threl demanded.  
  
_"I am here,"_ a black-cloaked figure moved into frame. _"The shuttle has taken damage. Take us aboard immediately, Lieutenant."_  
  
“The shuttle appears to have been in a fight, sir,” Crewman Fin reported.  
  
"Yes, sir!" Threl leapt to his feet and saluted. "Hail, Spectra!"  
  
The transmission winked out. Threl swallowed. The Captain’s shuttle damaged? Their forces in disarray? It could well fall to him to save the day for the glory of Spectra!  
  
"Your orders, sir?" asked the crewman at the helm.  
  
"Make best speed to rendezvous with the Commander's vessel and take them aboard!" Threl snapped.  
  
Now that it was through the asteroid field, the Crown of Thorns was able to detour without any trouble to intercept the shuttle. The blast doors opened and the landing deck stood ready.  
  
" _Commander_!" Threl said over the tele-comm, " _you may dock when ready, sir_!"  
  
_"_ Very good, Lieutenant _,"_ the counterfeit Veshkanian said. Ing tried not to shudder. The G-Force Commander's talent for mimicry made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "Meet me in the landing bay."  
  
  
  
  
Iringalara Haa paced up and down the length of the Operations Centre, wringing her hands. She had found the radio chatter during the ground battle discomfiting, but it seemed that the radio silence currently maintained by G-Force was the one thing that could be worse.  
  
"If only they would say something!" she muttered.  
  
"Irin," Anderson said, "relax." He had eschewed the uncomfortably low Gaian seating, and was perched instead on a vacant spot on the counter top that ran the length of one side of the room, leaning back against the wall, feet resting on a chair. "All we can do is wait."  
  
Tche-Ka was still slumped in his chair, clutching a cup of water with the soot-stained Alban lurking behind him, reeking of fuel and smoke. In one corner, Jones was silent and still, easily edited out of awareness unless someone was looking for her.  
  
Jason had cleared the duty manager's desk and was stretched out on top of it, booted feet propped on the back of the chair, one hand behind his head, the injured arm resting on his chest, eyes closed. His chest rose and fell in a slow, regular rhythm. Fran Patrick stood motionless nearby, cradling her rifle in her arms.  
  
"How can you be so casual?" Irin demanded.  
  
"Practice," Anderson said. "I do this for a living, you know."  
  
Irin turned away and resumed her distressed pacing. "If I am so overwrought," she reasoned, "then what of our people? The capital is in uproar. The population is terrified of the Spectran threat and the Patriots are taking advantage to sow dissent. We have made numerous arrests, but our news media is at screaming pitch. I should encourage the Prime Minister to make an address, try to reassure our troops and our civilians. What should we tell them?"  
  
Anderson thought for a moment. "You could say that you'll defend your home world... um... ride out the, er... storm of war, outlive the menace of tyranny... You could say," he ventured carefully, with a sidelong glance at Jones, "that you'll fight them on the beaches."  
  
"Er, yes," Jones said, frowning. "And on the landing grounds," she added, with a sharp look at Anderson.  
  
"That you'll fight in the fields and in the streets," Anderson continued, gathering momentum.  
  
"And in the hills," Jones recalled.  
  
"And that you'll never surrender," Anderson concluded.  
  
Irin considered. "An intriguing idea," she said.  
  
Jones had walked over to where Anderson was sitting. "I think you should know, sir," she muttered, "that I shall shoot anybody who looks like they might be going to smoke a cigar at this point."  [21]  
  
"The thought never even entered my mind," Anderson murmured.  
  
  
  
  
Aboard the Crown of Thorns flagship, Lieutenant Threl leaned back against the wall of the brig and let his knees slowly give way so that he slid down the wall to fold into a sitting position on the floor. He let his head fall forward into his hands. The ignominy! The disgrace!  
  
"Sir," the helmsman said, "there's no shame in being defeated by G-Force. Even Lord Zoltar --"  
  
"We were not defeated!" Threl cried disconsolately, his voice muffled by his hands. "We were tricked! G-Force never fired a shot!"  
  
"Even so," the helmsman said, "it is G-Force who have bested us."  
  
"To our everlasting shame," Threl moaned.  
  
In the corner next to Harek, Ing curled into a ball and gibbered.  
  
  
  
  
Captain Ennar glanced up as the communications screen illuminated with an image of Commander Veshkanian. The picture was blurred and noisy.  
  
" _Captain, this is Commander Veshkanian. Hold your position!_ " Veshkanian ordered. " _We are on our way to rendezvous with you_."  
  
"What has happened?" Ennar asked, rising out of his seat.  
  
"G _-Force were waiting for us!_ " Veshkanian said. " _My flagship is damaged. I will join you then we will attack_ en masse _and destroy them._ "  
  
"Commander, let the rest of the battle group make best speed to your position and meet the enemy head on!" Ennar exclaimed.  
  
" _No, Captain!_ " Veshkanian snapped. " _We are vulnerable here. Hold your position. I will explain my plan when I arrive. G-Force will regret the day they crossed me!_ "  
  
"If you are vulnerable," Ennar argued, "all the more reason for us to provide support."  
  
" _No_ ," Veshkanian said. " _Obey my orders! I am coming to you_."  
  
The channel closed. Ennar eased himself back into his seat. "G-Force!" he said, turning to his second in command. "It was to be expected, I suppose. They are a most persistent thorn in Spectra’s side."  
  
"Surely even G-Force cannot prevail against our combined might," the Executive Officer said. "Why won't the Commander let us join him?"  
  
"I do not know," Ennar said, "but I do not have a good feeling about it. Veshkanian went a long time without contacting us, and now he tells us to wait, and all the while the wretched Gaians are marshalling their strength, with G-Force thrown into the equation."  
  
"You suspect some kind of treachery, Captain?"  
  
"Treachery is an ugly word. It is an uneasy feeling in my vitals that troubles me," Ennar said. He clenched a fist. "I am responsible for this ship and its crew. Although it may earn me Veshkanian's displeasure, I will not risk the mission. Comms, establish a channel to Spectra. I must speak with Lord Zoltar!"  
  
  
  
  
"Do you think they bought it?" Princess asked.  
  
"Scanners show three bogeys holding position," Keyop reported.  
  
"Keep your fingers crossed," Mark said.  
  
"And toes!" Keyop said.  
  
“Princess,” Mark said, “how are we doing?”  
  
Princess was seated at the helm console. “We’re making best speed through the shipping lane, Commander. We should be clear of the asteroid field before too long.”  
  
  
  
  
The workers dismantling the scaffold from around the _Phoenix_ 's aft regions jumped as Tiny soared impossibly through the air and landed with an appreciable thump on a cross member. "Come on, guys, I need this bird airborne!" the big pilot exhorted them. He hopped down onto another strut with an agility that belied his size and pulled a pole free with one hand. "We don't have time to be neat and tidy about this!" He hurled the pole clear like a javelin, making the workers scatter. "Move it!" Tiny bellowed, and the workers redoubled their efforts in a crash of components.  
  
As the scaffold shrank, Tiny returned to the bridge and began his pre-start checks. The weld in the ceramalloy wasn't pretty, but it would hold. The inertial mitigation system was looking good. The plasma reticulation system was back on line and Zark's remote diagnostic suggested he could maintain _Fiery Phoenix_ at full power for approximately eight seconds. He acknowledged an incoming transmission: it was the tow unit requesting permission to lock on to the nose-wheel.  
  
"About time," he muttered, and started the auxiliary power unit. “Lock on,” he told the Gaians, “and get me out on the apron so’s I can taxi properly!”  
  
Five minutes later the Gaians were still standing on the apron, having watched the _Phoenix_ carry out a performance take-off and scream into a wide blue sky.  
  
The sky darkened from indigo through to black as Tiny guided the _Phoenix_ through the upper atmosphere and flexed his hands as the Goddess' Kirtle grew larger on his main screen. He opened a comm channel.  
  
_"Go ahead, Tiny."_ Princess' reply came back almost immediately.  
  
"I'm in the air," Tiny said. "I'm about to start playing dodge ball with the asteroid field. It’ll take longer than using the shipping lane, but I’ll be out of range of the Spectrans’ scanners. They won’t see me comin’."  
  
_"Good luck,"_ Princess said.  
  
"Is Mark's plan working?" Tiny asked.  
  
_"So far,"_ Princess said. _"We're keeping our fingers crossed._ _When you drop out of warp, they should be locked out of their weapons systems. If I’m reading this system right, they’ll be able to take back control, but it’ll buy you enough time to take evasive action."_  
  
"Can't ask for more than that, I guess," Tiny said. "Here goes nothin'."  
  
Tiny closed the channel and glared at the looming asteroids. He reduced power and sent the _Phoenix_ plunging between the giant rocks.  
  
  
  
  
"How are you doing, Princess?" Mark asked. Veshkanian's headgear made his nose itch. He longed to take the mask off but didn't dare.  
  
"Nearly there," Princess said. She had taken the Spectran mask off and was hacking into the Crown of Thorns' computer systems. "You want the good news?"  
  
"I love good news," Mark said.  
  
"The good news is that Tche-Ka was right: these ships' systems can be slaved to one other. I'm writing a routine that can be activated remotely. It'll freeze the tactical and weapons systems on the other ships. It won't hold for long -- as soon as they realise what's going on, they can break free, but I'm hoping it'll take them at least a minute to figure it out."  
  
"If it buys Tiny the time he needs, I'm all for it," Mark said.  
  
"I've got the comms systems isolated," Princess said. "The only way anyone can get anything in or out of this heap is with a password. You want to do the honours, Commander?"  
  
"Let's see," Mark said. He paced a few steps, then leaned over the console and typed a word.  
  
Keyop peeked under Mark's elbow. "Eldoodrekcins?" he read aloud. "What language is that from?"  
  
Princess chuckled. "Read it backwards," she suggested.  
  
"How did you know to read it backwards?" Mark asked.  
  
"Commander," Princess sighed, "I'm trained to hack into alien systems. You think spelling your favourite cookie backwards is going to stump me?"  
  
Mark paled. "You can decipher my passwords?"  
  
"Did I say I'd even tried?" Princess smiled. She bent her attention back to the console. "If you'll excuse me, I have the escape pods to isolate."  
  
  
  
  
Tiny worked with hands and feet, playing the _Phoenix_ like a virtuoso, taking her on a dangerous dance as she arced and pirouetted through the asteroid field. A sheen of sweat coated Tiny’s face and his body was taut with tension as he worked. The ship plunged through a gap and spun into another. A hard turn and suddenly the blessed emptiness of open space filled the view screen.  
  
Tiny Harper breathed a sigh of relief. He stabilised the _Phoenix_ and double-checked his bearings. He was on the far side of Gaia, out of range of most scanners. He could just pick up the Crown of Thorns command ship making its way outbound through the shipping lane, but the other two incoming ships were too far away to detect.  
  
He ran a quick systems check then began programming a course to the enemy ships' last known position.  
  
  
  
  
"Incoming signal," Princess reported. She grabbed her mask and pulled it over her head to conceal the upper part of her face and checked that Keyop was still in Spectran mufti. "I'm putting it on screen." She pushed Keyop into a chair and opened the channel.  
  
_"Commander Veshkanian!"_  
  
Mark glanced up at the sound of the familiar, hated voice. Adrenaline surged and he suppressed the urge to attack the tele-comm screen where Zoltar's face was displayed, larger than life. He composed himself and tensed his vocal cords to imitate Veshkanian's smooth tones. "Sire," he said, bowing.  
  
_"What is the meaning of this delay in your attack? You promised me the Gaian Commonwealth and the shield technology! Explain yourself!"_  
  
"A minor setback, Lord Zoltar," Mark evaded. "We are gathering our forces to mount a second, combined attack. The Gaians are weakened and fearful. They will surrender or be completely crushed."  
  
_"This delay is unacceptable,"_ Zoltar said. " _I have ordered the remaining ships in your group to join you at your position. I am greatly displeased with you!"_  
  
Mark bowed his head. "I stand chastised, sire. Your orders will be followed to the letter."  
  
_"We will talk more of this on your return, Veshkanian,"_ Zoltar snarled. The image winked out.  
  
Mark glared at the screen, which had resumed its display of the shipping lane.  
  
"All clear," Princess said. She and Keyop got to their feet.  
  
"I hate that guy," Mark said, "but more to the point, company's coming. I'd better call Tiny."  
  
  
  
  
Captain Ennar clutched at the arms of his command chair. He had hated going to Zoltar behind Veshkanian's back. It smacked of disloyalty. The Commander would be furious. Still, Ennar reasoned, his greater loyalty had to be to Spectra and his crew, in that order.  
  
"Make best speed to rendezvous with Commander Veshkanian's ship," he told his helmsman.  
  
  
  
  
Larian Tche-Ka finished running the diagnostic. "Amazing," he said. "As long as the power supply holds, the Spectrans will be unable to break through."  
  
"That's the general idea," Anderson said.  
  
"Still," Tche-Ka said, "with what they know, they could conceivably adapt their offensive, even as you have adapted our defence."  
  
"They could," Anderson conceded, "and I wouldn't call this a permanent solution by any stretch of the imagination. It needs an intuitive algorithm, a system that can interpret an attack and react appropriately."  
  
"Such a thing would be... a great challenge," Tche-Ka said. "We would need a team of programmers and technicians. It could take a long time."  
  
"Less, with our help," Anderson suggested.  
  
"That," Iringalara Haa put in, "is for a full assembly of our government to decide."  
  
  
  
  
Princess and Keyop had transmuted into their G-Force combat gear and stood just outside the door to the brig. Princess addressed the prisoners.  
  
"What I'm about to tell you," Princess announced, "is extremely important, so please pay attention. We've locked the comms, navigation, engineering and weapons systems to make them inaccessible to you."  
  
A detonation sounded and the lights flickered.  
  
"Bye-bye, bridge!" Keyop said, grinning.  
  
"The news isn't all bad," Princess said. "Very shortly, the locks on these doors are going to release, and if you proceed in an orderly fashion, you should all be able to get to the escape pods in time. Their comms are off line, too, so you can't use them to warn the other ships. The distress beacons are fully operational though. I’m not completely heartless. You'll have just enough time to run for your lives. Maybe. If I got the math right. Good bye and good luck."  
  
Keyop poked out his tongue, then the two G-Forcers turned and ran.  
  
Mark, who had been all too happy to activate his transformer and get rid of Veshkanian’s uniform, had the captured shuttle ready for launch. "All set?" he asked as his colleagues rejoined him.  
  
"You bet!" Keyop declared.  
  
  
  
  
Captain Ennar watched as the flagship seemed to grow larger on the main screen. "Why do they not answer us?" he demanded.  
  
"It's as though our signals are being jammed, sir," the comms officer said.  
  
A warning lamp illuminated and an alarm sounded. "Captain," the helmsman reported, "our sensors indicate that the Gaian planetary shield is operational!"  
  
"What?" Ennar demanded. "Check again!"  
  
"The shield is up, sir. There's a small craft leaving Commander Veshkanian's ship!"  
  
Ennar straightened in his chair, his vitals turning to ice. "It's a trap!" he realised. "Helm, bring us about! Alert the battle group! Launch all fighters!"  
  
"The controls are not responding! I’m locked out of Tactical! The flagship is on a collision course at full speed!" the helmsman cried. "Escape pods are launching from the flagship!"  
  
"Manual override! Evasive action!" Ennar ordered.  
  
"There's another ship dropping out of time warp aft! It's G-Force!"  
  
  


Tiny's hand hovered over the missile firing controls. The targeting system blinked red, and Tiny released the bird missiles.  
  
The spines on one of the ships began to tear loose as fighters launched.  
  
"Oh, no, you don't," Tiny growled. He firewalled the levers that opened the plasma taps and the oxygen, and braced himself.  
  
Too late, Ennar was on his feet. "Abandon ship!" he shouted.  
  
The _Phoenix_ seemed to burst into bright, deadly flame, and surged into the battle group. The tiny fighters, with no protection against spaceborne plasma, exploded like Roman candles in the night. The larger ships lasted a few seconds longer.  
  
The firebird seemed to waver and sputter, then the plasma depleted and the blue and red starship shot out of the conflagration at high speed.  
  
The _Phoenix_ lurched and alarms sounded in the cockpit as her systems detected shockwaves from the explosion. The astrogation system issued electronic protests and Tiny used the ship’s thrusters to steady her.  
  
_"You okay, Tiny?"_ Mark asked.  
  
Tiny ran a swift check of the tactical screen and smiled. "I got my tail feathers a little toasted, but the _Phoenix_ is a tough bird. A few scratches to the paintwork, maybe. I think what’s left of our would-be conquerors are going to need whatever the Gaians call Search and Rescue. I’ll make the call."  
  
Behind him, the Spectran ships resembled a star cluster going nova. He manoeuvred the _Phoenix_ on to an intercept course with a lone shuttle.  
  
  
  
"G-Force," Captain Ekeng said, "the shield aperture is open. You are cleared to return."  
  
"Sounds good to me," Mark said.  
  
"Then we can go home," Princess said.  
  
"Hmmmm," Keyop said, drumming his fingers against the console.  
  
"Don't you want to go home, Keyop?" Mark asked.  
  
The boy shrugged. "On Gaia," he said, "I'm tall!"  
  
  
  
"Looks like we survived," Anderson couldn't help saying, with a glance at Jones.  
  
"That doesn't mean anything," Jones said, refusing to meet Anderson's gaze.  
  
"Doesn't it?" Anderson goaded.  
  
"You told me yourself," Jones reasoned primly. "Only the good die young. All this proves is that we aren't counted among the good." She arched an eyebrow. "Or the young."  
  
"Ouch," Anderson said.  “C’mon, Al, lighten up. We won.”  
  
“I don’t know how I resist your charm, sir,” Jones said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to the disposition of the prisoners.” She strode away.  
  
Iringalara Haa gave Anderson a quizzical look. “Your officer seems somewhat vexed,” she said carefully.  
  
“Oh, that’s just her way of letting me know that she cares,” Anderson quipped.  
  
“If that is how Terran women express affection,” Irin reasoned, “it is a wonder that the people of your planet manage to reproduce at all.”  
  
  
  
Zoltar knelt on one knee before the Great Spirit. "All four ships were destroyed, O Luminous One," he said.  
  
There was a deadly silence from the tabernacle.  
  
"The Gaian Commonwealth has made contact and is offering to negotiate the return of our surviving men," Zoltar added. "Commander Veshkanian will be called to account for his failure." The Great Spirit's ocular analogues narrowed. Zoltar swallowed, a trickle of perspiration running down his face. "The Gaians are asking for reparations," Zoltar continued, "but our negotiators --"  
  
"Enough!" the Great Spirit thundered. "The Federation now has a significant advantage thanks to your miserable failure! Feinting at the fringes of the Federation and its allies has brought us nothing but loss! Earth is our enemy! Earth is the planet that harbours G‑Force and the headquarters of the ISO. It is Earth at which we will strike! Earth that we will defeat! Once Earth falls, the rest of the galaxy will follow. It is upon Earth that you will focus all our efforts. Now go. Leave me. I am sick of the sight of you and your grovelling excuses."  
  
"Yes, O Great Light of Wisdom," Zoltar said, and scurried out of the room, the back of his neck prickling with fear.  
  
When the massive doors closed and locked behind him, he let himself breathe again.  
  
"Was the Luminous One angry?" Mala asked. She had been waiting, apprehensive, with a medical team on standby.  
  
"Extremely," Zoltar said. He straightened and tossed his head. "And so am I," he added, recovering his equanimity. "The Great Spirit has announced a revision of strategy, and we are to implement its plans at once. The Federation will fall to us!"  
  
"Or else," Mala muttered under her breath.  
  
  
  
Flashbulbs effervesced and journalists waved microphones as President Kane stepped up to the podium. Behind him, Vice President D'Castro waited in attentive silence.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen," Alexander Kane said, "I'm pleased to announce that an in-principle agreement has been reached between the Intergalactic Federation of Peaceful Planets and the Commonwealth of Gaia to establish closer diplomatic and economic relations. The agreement was brokered, at considerable personal risk, by the Vice President, Mrs Julia D'Castro..."  
  
Staff and journalists applauded. Security Chief Anderson slipped quietly out by way of a side door.  
  
Lieutenant Colonel Jones was a stride's length behind him. "Politicians, eh, sir?" she said wryly.  
  
"We need them, Colonel," Anderson said. "At least, that's what the politicians tell me."  
  
"They're handy for fielding blame from time to time," Jones conceded. "At least you seem to be popular with them at the moment, especially the Gaians."  
  
“After we cleaned house for them and made the Patriots movement extremely unpopular within the Commonwealth, I should damned well think so!” Anderson said.  
  
“Speaking of the Patriots,” Jones ventured, “why did they need our help to get rid of them? As terrorists go, they didn’t seem to be particularly good at it.”  
  
“I suspect they’re just too civilised to be any good at terrorism,” Anderson said. “As with most terrorist groups, the real leaders – the ones with the ideas and the plans – hid in the shadows while they convinced the idealistic and the just plain gullible to do their dirty work for them. the Gaian government really only needed the political impetus to take them down, and we – or more precisely, our response to Zoltar’s invasion attempt – provided them with exactly what they needed.”  
  
Shay Alban and Fran Patrick stepped quietly into position behind their Chief of Staff and the little group made their escape to the big black car outside. Heavy armoured doors clicked smoothly into the locked position and Corporal Mendelawitz guided the vehicle away from the kerb.  
  
Anderson leaned back in his seat and regarded his security coordinator, who was seated directly opposite him. "Al," he said, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you."  
  
"Yes, sir?" Jones put her palm unit down and gave Anderson her full attention.  
  
"You're fired."  
  
Jones' expression didn't change. "Perhaps I _should_ have given in to temptation on Gaia," she said.  
  
Shay Alban's expression _had_ changed. It had turned thunderous.  
  
Anderson shifted very slightly away from Alban and spoke again. "The Gaia mission showed beyond all doubt that diplomacy really isn't my strong point. I need a reliable, competent Liaison and Protocol Officer on staff, and if that LPO is also capable of fighting off a small army with a rifle and a stream of verbal invective, then that's the Liaison and Protocol Officer I want. You've always had my back, Al. How about defending me against politicians as well as assassins?"  
  
"You have a sick sense of humour," Jones said. "You know that, don't you?"  
  
"I've been told," Anderson said. "You know there's a pay raise that comes with the job."  
  
"And the protection detail? Do I get to choose my successor?"  
  
Anderson folded his arms. "You mean do you get to put someone in charge who keeps _just_ falling short of threatening to hit me if I don't behave? Someone sitting to my right, maybe?"  
  
"I knew there had to be something to those rumours about you being perceptive, sir."  
  
Shay Alban directed a weary look at the other occupants of the limousine. "I'm right here, y’know."  
  
Anderson returned the look and held eye contact. "Well? Do you want the job, Shay?"  
  
Shay sighed in mock exasperation. "I suppose you expect me to promise to not _actually_ hit you."  
  
"It's kind of implied when you take the oath," Anderson pointed out.  
  
Jones relaxed enough to allow herself a very small smile. "Go on, Shay."  
  
"Oh, all right," Alban said. "I swear on my honour I won't hit you, Chief. Not unless it's to save your life, okay? Because y'know, saving your life kind of overrides all the other stuff."  
  
"Good enough," Anderson said. "Well, Colonel?"  
  
Jones shook her head in defeat. "I suppose I'm fired, then."  
  
  
  
Gunnery Sergeant McAllister had been warned, as usual, of Anderson's imminent arrival by the ever-helpful 7-Zark-7. McAllister put a fresh cup of coffee on Anderson's desk and returned to his post, where he retrieved an item which had been waiting by the workstation.  
  
"Oh, Chief," McAllister said, holding out a bottle with a ribbon around it. "This arrived for you in the diplomatic pouch from Gaia."  
  
Anderson took it and read the tag. "Good grief," he said. "It's a bottle of Gaian liquor, from the Defence Minister. And to think I thought she was one of the good guys." Gingerly, he handed it back to McAllister, quite certain that even staring at the label for too long could be dangerous. "Send it to the President with my compliments," he said, "and a hazmat label."  
  
  
  
  
"Food's ready!" Tiny called. He was presiding over a large barbecue, wearing sunglasses, a chef's hat and an oversized 'Kiss the Cook' apron over his clothes. "Man, there's no place like home!"  
  
"Yeah," Mark agreed, "just ask any invading alien despot. They'll tell you for sure that there's no place like _our_ home!" He got up from his chair and perused the offerings from the hotplate. Tiny was already loading a plate with his own version of surf 'n' turf. Behind him, the Pacific glinted with picture postcard looks in blue and silver under a perfect sky. Tiny's mismatched outdoor furniture was set up on the covered deck and the table was laden with food.  
  
"No seafood," Jason called out from his chair. His arm was in a sling and he was reclining on a deck chair. Mark, Princess and Keyop were loading four plates between them. "And go easy on the coleslaw!" Jason added.  
  
Mark glanced back over his shoulder. "Any other orders?"  
  
"Well... I could use a soda."  
  
"Careful, hot shot," Princess warned. "Charity begins at home, but it could end right here, right now."  
  
Jason chuckled. "Hey, it was worth it to see the look on flyboy's face."  


 

 

 

 

  1. Anderson and Jones have just quoted from Winston Churchill’s famous “We shall fight them on the beaches” speech from WWII.




	10. Epilogue: O, Hast Thou Slain the Jabberwock?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matters arising from the mission.

The single gravestone had three names on it and room for at least one more. The dull shadow of the man for whose name room still remained fell across the grave. He was aware of the uniformed security staff strategically positioned around the cemetery and ignored them. David Anderson crouched and placed a bouquet of _Cymbidium_ orchids -- they'd been his mother's favourite -- on the grave. As a cloud covered the sun, the shadows vanished and the flowers seemed to lose some of their brightness.  
  
_I'm still working on it,_ he silently assured the occupants of the plot. _Progress is little slower than Jay would have liked, but I'm getting closer._ Anderson's gaze focussed on his brother's name and his conversation with President Kane that morning came back to him.  
  
"So you have the Gaian Regent on side," Kane had remarked. "Good work. It seems the Gaian security forces are conducting quite the purge of this Patriots movement of theirs since you left. You have the devil's own luck. What was in the information she gave you?"  
  
"Information about a file I'd thought closed, Mister President," Anderson said, and passed his Commander in Chief a data strip with a red crystal embedded in the tip. "It's encrypted, and the data chip will destroy itself after you remove it from the reader."  
  
"It's that sensitive?" Alexander Kane had frowned.  
  
"I'm afraid so, sir." Anderson sat in silence while Kane read the executive summary, then skimmed through the rest of the report.  
  
After several uncomfortable minutes, Kane looked up from the computer. "This is serious," he said.  
  
"Yes, Mister President," Anderson agreed.  
  
"That your brother could still be alive is serious enough, that we should have a G-Sec agent gone rogue is bad enough. Now you're telling me we have a rogue G-Sec agent who happens to be the brother of G‑Sec's Chief of Staff, and to top it all off, our newest allies appear to have been involved in the cover-up. This is what we in politics would call a galaxy-sized crock, Anderson, and the trouble with the substance found in crocks is that it has an unfortunate tendency to hit the fan."  
  
“There’s more, sir,” Anderson said. He handed over another folder, which Kane opened to reveal a sheet of paper. It was a list of Gaian names with notes.  
  
“These are your Gaian terrorists?” Kane inferred.  
  
“Yes, sir. I had Zark run an analysis this morning. You’ll note that a number of them – an unnaturally high number of senior members of the Patriots – have been killed in pirate attacks attributed to Captain Doom of Urgos over the last fifteen years or so. At the moment, all we have is a statistical correlation, but I don’t believe in coincidences.”  
  
“Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse,” Kane said.  
  
"Agreed, Mister President." Anderson took a breath. "I'm prepared to tender my resignation immediately--"  
  
"And play straight into Zoltar's hands?" Kane barked. "Not if I have anything to do with it. Zoltar's put enough energy into trying to get rid of you lately that I'm inclined to keep you around. As long as you don't give me any more trouble than usual, that is, and don’t go trying to take on the goddamned Spectran army single-handed – I read the mission report and you can consider your ass officially reprimanded. You get to keep your job... for the time being, anyway. Now, we have a press conference to attend so that I can announce Julia's diplomatic triumph to the press. Look happy, or else."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Anderson had said, carefully keeping his expression and his tone as neutral as possible.   
  
After leaving the press conference and directing Zark to start processing the staffing changes he'd decided on, Anderson had boarded a transport to Boston and come to the cemetery to reflect on what he'd learned over the last few days.  
  
A fat raindrop burst on the concrete edging around the plot, followed by another that bounced off the polished granite, then the rain began to spatter lazily into the grass. It would get heavier and faster, Anderson knew, and he'd be drenched in about two minutes.  
  
There was the soft, dull sound of a large umbrella being opened and a shadow fell over him. The rain pattered against the waterproof fabric and there was a pair of polished pumps in the periphery of his vision. "No hurry, sir," Jones murmured.  
  
Anderson straightened, and Jones held the umbrella higher to accommodate him. Since he was taller than her, he took the umbrella and held it to shelter both of them. "I should go and visit my grandmother, then get back to work," Anderson said. "I've got a lot to do, and now that I have a Liaison and Protocol Officer on staff, I get to delegate some of it."  
  
Jones stared straight ahead. “This is my punishment for making you wear the hat, isn’t it?”  
  
Anderson allowed himself a very small smile. “You might think that, Colonel. I couldn’t possibly comment.”  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Fin_


End file.
